Final Act
by Partners In PANiC
Summary: A series of unsolved murders in NY brings David Rossi, CSINY's Mac Taylor, & OC's Detective Julie Brennan and Dr. Ainsley Hamilton together to hunt a killer from Mac and Ainsley's past. Cowritten by Snoozie2105 & Lenni George **Chapter 11 Rated M***
1. Act 1

**_Act 1_**

Taking one last look at his handiwork, he flashed a satisfied smile at the tarp covering his latest victims. "Goodbye, bitches. You'll never laugh at me again," he sneered, then turned and walked quickly down the street.

He wished he could have taken a photo, but that would have been too dangerous, he thought as he got into his car. Besides, he didn't have time – he needed to get back to his apartment. There was work yet to do.

The first girl, Vicki, he thought she called herself, not that he cared what her name was, was fair-skinned, slim, and didn't put up much of a struggle. She went quietly, quickly, almost too quickly, and left him wanting more.

When he walked out of his bedroom to call the other one – Maria, it seemed – in, he tried to appear calm, relaxed. He gave her a smile as he announced it was time for her "audition." She would be stronger; the muscles in her arms and legs told him. She would give him a fight, the feisty look in her eyes said.

And she did...oh, she put up a glorious, violent fight, giving him the excitement he so wanted and needed. He took his time strangling her, enjoying the power, feeling her weaken as the life drained from her body, watching as the spark left her eyes.

When he was sure she was dead, he sat back, pleased, holding the silk stockings he'd used to take her life, the room heady with the smell of their perfumes mixed with their fear. He wished he could bottle it.

He stared at them for maybe thirty minutes, looking into their vacant eyes, still open and still scared, playing the scenes over and over and over in his mind.

At last he wrapped them in the tarp, hauled them to the basement of his building where his car was parked, loaded them in the trunk, and drove them to the most secluded spot he knew. He wanted them to make a good debut. After all, these murders marked his return to his art, and a good artist knew the importance of presenting his work well. A good artist knew the importance of good reviews.

He laid them next to each other, face up. They looked as if they were sunbathing, he decided, except for the red marks around their necks. He should have closed their eyes before they started to stiffen, but, he admitted, he loved the look on their faces too much.

Back at his apartment, he locked the door, and, leaning back against it, took a deep breath in...the scent was still there. He hated to lose it, but he had to clean up, get rid of whatever evidence might linger. He would just have to trust his memory to keep this moment forever...or until next time.

XXXXX

"Could traffic be any worse?" Don Flack grumbled as he navigated the Ford Taurus slowly down Houston Street toward the West Side Expressway.

His partner, Julia Brennan – Julie to her family and friends – snickered and glanced at him over her Raybans as she pulled her red hair back into a ponytail. "Its rush hour on a Friday, Donnie. What did you expect?"

"I've got the frickin' light and siren on," he replied, indignant. "I expect them to move the hell out of my way. We're not out for a Sunday drive – come on, people, move, damn it! We've got a crime scene to get to!"

Julie smiled to herself. Patience was _not_ one of Flack's virtues – never had been, never would be. "We're in Manhattan, not Mayberry – we'll get there when we get there."

They crept along for a few more minutes, then she peered through the dirty windshield and pointed ahead to flashing lights and a group of blue suits. "Up there, on your right."

"I see 'em," he muttered as he turned into an empty lot and parked behind a marked NYPD sedan. "Let's go."

As Flack and Julie got out of the car he called to the youngest-looking cop on the scene. "What do we have, Jackson?"

"Two bodies," he answered, swallowing hard, clearly stunned by what he'd seen. "Women..."

"Women?" she pressed, wondering if he'd just graduated from the police academy. "Think you could be a little more descriptive?"

He shook his head and pointed to where two bodies lay partially hidden by a tarp. "See for yourself, ma'am."

She followed Flack to a dark, damp corner and winced. She'd been a homicide detective for ten years but still wasn't accustomed to the sights and smells of death. "Why do I get the feeling there are going to be serious bugs?" she asked hesitantly as she stood over her partner's shoulder.

Flack didn't answer but lifted one corner of the tarp and immediately dropped it, looking away. "Shit...yeah, I'd say those are serious bugs."

"Oh, God," she groaned, fighting the urge to vomit. "I hate the bugs. You know I hate the bugs."

He looked up at her. "You okay?"

"I will be," she sniffed, turning back to Officer Jackson. "Who found the body?"

Jackson consulted his notepad. "Guy over there – Clarence Henry. He's a custodian at the storage facility on the other side of the lot."

"I'll take him," Flack volunteered. "Back in a few."

"Fine – I'll wait here for CSI."

"No need to wait," Jackson offered. "They just pulled up."

Julie turned and saw Mac Taylor and Danny Messer approaching. Mac looked past her to the tarp. "What's up?"

"Serious maggot infestation," she groused, causing Messer to laugh.

"Sorry, Brennan. Should've let Flack handle the bodies."

"He was gagging too," she replied testily, getting a brief smile from Mac.

"Danny, get some shots of the tarp before we pull it," he commanded. "Julie, I'm gonna need your help."

"Damn," she sighed, taking the pair of latex gloves he was holding out to her. "I'll so kick Flack's ass for this."

"You're the senior detective – you should be doing the interview," he said, leaning in close.

She glared at him as she snapped on the gloves. "Point made. What do you want me to do?"

"Grab the end of the tarp and bring it up slowly and carefully – I don't want to lose any of the debris on top."

"And then what?"

"Hand it to the officers over here so I can get more photos," Messer said.

"Ready?" Mac asked. "On my count...one, two, three...lift."

A terrible stench, much worse than that which had assailed their nostrils when Flack lifted only a corner of the tarp, filled the air. They quickly passed it to the uniforms.

"They were strangled with nylons," Mac observed as he crouched next to the bodies, the scene seeming not to bother him. "Let's hope we can get DNA...."

Julie nodded, trying to follow his lead and focus. "Decomp looks like what? Thirty-six hours?"

"About." He nodded to two coroner's aides. "You can turn them."

Julie stood and turned her back, trying to quietly take deep breaths of fresh air. She felt Mac's eyes on her but he said nothing. When the coroner's aides had turned the bodies, she knelt down, and with an expression that gave no hint of her nausea, studied the scene with him. This was much easier; there were no maggots.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his eyes twinkling.

"Much," she replied. "Now...let's get on with this..."


	2. Act 2

XXXXX

As he unbuttoned his shirt, Mac went over the details of the crime and the scene again, for what felt like the hundredth time. He had his suspicions but kept them to himself, wanting to feel more confident before he mentioned the possible reappearance of a serial killer and sent not only his team but the entire city of New York into a panic.

Julie brought him back to the here and now. "Let it go, Taylor," she said, her Brooklyn accent heavy as the summer air.

"I will when you do," he replied, looking back at her standing against the door frame, wearing a black tank top and a pair of black lace panties, her other articles of clothing draped over her arm.

"I have," she halfway lied. "If we walk away from it for the night and come back in the morning with fresh eyes..." She shrugged as she walked into the bedroom and dropped her clothes into the laundry hamper. "Besides, I told you – this is my bedroom and I will not tolerate talk about work in it."

Despite his frustration, he found himself smiling at her. "I haven't forgotten." He reached out, pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly. "I know it's late..."

"Yeah, it's late," she smiled, "but if we can do something to get our minds off of the case, I think we owe it to ourselves to give it a shot, don't you?"

He eased her tank top up, exposing the pale, creamy skin of her stomach. "You're addicting."

"I could accuse you of the same."

"Me?" he chuckled as he unhooked her bra and replaced the black lace with his strong hands.

"Yeah, you." Her breath hitched as his thumbs brushed her sensitive nipples. She leaned forward and claimed his lips in a passionate kiss. "Nobody," she whispered, gazing into his eyes, "has ever made me feel like you do."

His mind refused to come up with an intelligent response, so he leaned in for another searing kiss. He felt her body trying to melt into his, causing his body to respond with an urgency of its own.

"Mac," she breathed, as he backed her to the bed and lay her down.

"What do you want, Julie?"

"You," she answered, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined her on the bed.

"I'm right here."

She slipped her hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his length, holding him firmly while she stroked him slowly. "You know what I mean. And I think," She grinned mischievously, "that you want me too."

"You know I do," he groaned, taking her hand and removing it, "but not that way..."

"How do you want me, Detective Taylor?" She eased herself on to him. "Like this?"

He settled his hands on her hips, helping her find just the right rhythm. "You feel so good," he murmured.

"How good?"

"I think I can show you better than I can tell you." In one easy motion, he rolled over and repositioned them so that he was on top. "Now," he said, taking control, "you tell me...how does this feel?"

The weight of body on hers as he drove in and out of her was almost more than she could bear. "Oh God...please..." She gripped his arms, her nails digging into his skin, giving him a delicious pain that spurred him on. "That's it, Mac...oh God, I'm so close already...."

He kissed her roughly, pulling away just in time to see her eyes fly open and hear her cry out as she reached her peak. He followed a moment later.

"Damn," she panted.

"Yeah," he agreed, lying back on the bed. "C'mere." He drew her close and kissed her forehead. "Remind me again why I thought our getting together would be a bad idea?"

"I don't know," she smiled. "Something about shitting in your own back yard and past experiences dating coworkers? I told you – I'm not like the other women you've been with."

"Don't I know it?" he murmured, staring down at her. "Don't I know it?"

XXXX

One wouldn't know it from looking at her, but Ainsley Hamilton was one of the top forensic scientists in the country, having studied countless crime scenes and DNA and bone fragments and tissue samples and various other things the general public had no desire to have specialized knowledge of. She stood 5'6" in her bare feet, was of average size, and had long blonde hair, striking hazel eyes and a Southern accent that one of her colleagues said "could charm the pants off of anyone." Today, though, as she sat in her office giving the latest article she'd written for a forensics journal a final proofread, she could've blended in with the students at the university where she had taught for the past five years. She wore old jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes.

The ringing of her phone followed by the voice of the department's secretary broke her concentration. "Ainsley?"

"Yes, Margaret?"

"You've got a call on line two – can you take it, or shall I send it to your voicemail?"

Ainsley frowned and chewed on the cap of her pen as she glanced at the clock on her computer. She was meeting her Ph.D. students at the research lab – her university's version of "the body farm" – in thirty minutes, and it would take her at least 10 to get there. Sighing, she replied, "Depends. Who's calling?"

"Mac Taylor – he says he's with the NYPD crime lab."

Mac. She hadn't talked to him since the last meeting of the American Forensics Association when she had presented a paper on the examination of bone fragments recovered from a fire and they'd gone out to dinner afterwards. He wasn't the type to just call and want to shoot the breeze, so she knew that whatever the reason he was calling, it must be important.

"I'll take it – thanks."

"No problem! Line two."

She sat up straight as she picked up the phone. "Mac?"

"Ainsley! How are you?"

"I'm good – busier than ever, but good. How are you?"

"The same, too many crimes, not enough time."

"I think they should call New York the city that never sleeps, not Las Vegas," she laughed.

"You and me both," he agreed. "Listen, as much as I'd like to chat and catch up, I know you're busy so I'll get down to why I'm calling." He paused and took a deep breath. "I think he's back."

Ainsley felt her blood run cold, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Don't tell me...."

"I wish I wasn't."

She cursed under her breath and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What makes you think that? I've kept up with the investigation...I haven't heard about any new leads."

"There haven't been any, until yesterday. We found two young women – Vicki Hurst and Maria Graves – under a tarp in an alley on Houston Street with almost identical wounds and COD, roughly the same age, similar looks, as Kathryn, as well as the vics before and after her. They were actresses too."

"When do you want me up there?"

"By tonight? I'm going to call David Rossi at the BAU...I'd like for him to review the profile and make changes, if necessary."

David Rossi. Ainsley knew the name, of course, but she had never met him in person, only seen him on television and read his books and journal articles. She didn't spend time trying to call up details, just said, "Sure. Can you have someone meet me at LaGuardia?"

"Detective Julia Brennan will be there – just call me after you book your flight so I can let her know when and where to meet you."

Ainsley jotted down the name. "Will do. See you later."

"Right. Oh, and Ainsley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks – I know this is the last place you want to be."

"Actually, Mac," she replied grimly, "if we can nail Hansen, it's the only place I want to be."

XXXXX

As soon as he hung up with Ainsley, Mac called Rossi at the BAU at FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. Rossi listened carefully, not saying a word.

"You really think it's the same perp?"

"I have a feeling it is, but in any case, we need to catch this bastard and we're stumped. Think Hotch can manage without you for a few days?"

Rossi chuckled. "Of course he can. I taught him everything he knows, remember? He can call me if he needs me."

As Mac was wrapping up his conversation with Rossi, Julie walked into the kitchen. He watched her as she went straight to the coffee pot and filled her oversized cup, and then took a long drink. Once the caffeine had started to travel through her system, she looked over at him with a raised brow.

"Okay, Dave," he said. "I'll see you when you get here." He shut his cell phone and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Dave Rossi?" she asked casually.

He nodded. "He's agreed to help."

"Mac..."

He held up a hand. "I've also called Ainsley Hamilton."

"Who the hell is she?"

"She's a forensics expert, tenured at the University of Atlanta."

"Great, so you've got a mind reader and a teacher coming up to help us," she scoffed, downing her coffee. "What about the NYPD, Mac? We've got the best of the best here."

"And we're already at a dead end, at least until we get the preliminary labs. But if the perp is who I think it is, then we need Ainsley here. She knows him better than anyone else."

"Whatever," she shrugged. "I'm lead detective on this one, if you remember."

"And I'm lead CSI," he shot back before adding in a softer tone, "Julie, this isn't personal – it's about the case. No one is saying the NYPD can't do its job."

"Do what you feel you need to do, Mac. When do they get in?"

"Later today. Dave's driving, should be here sometime this afternoon, and Ainsley's booking a flight. She'll call when she knows what time her plans lands. I'll need you to pick her up."

"Great, so now I'm a chauffeur too?"

"I would go get her, but I've got three active cases and a deposition at two."

"Fine. Email me her flight info." She turned on her heel and walked from the kitchen.

Mac sighed; he _knew _she'd take this personally, _just knew it_. She was surprisingly defensive of her colleagues and their skills. She firmly believed any outside help that was brought in would steal their bust and take credit for it. It was a common sentiment in the ranks, but she came from a family of cops, and it was even more ingrained in her.

"I'm leaving," she announced from the living room. "Are you coming with me?"

"Yes," he called back, then added, under his breath, "right behind you, dear."


	3. Act 3

XXXXX

Ainsley fought tears as she looked out the window of the plane at the clouds and the ground far below and tried to wrap her mind around this new development. The man who murdered her sister fifteen years ago might be preying on other women, brutally taking their lives just as they were starting to really live.

But not if she could help it.

Ainsley had visited Kathryn in New York only a few weeks before her murder. She'd just been accepted to a prestigious acting program and was thrilled to finally be seriously pursuing the dream she'd had since she was a little girl. Ainsley was happy for Kathryn but happier that the visit seemed to mark a turning point in their relationship. As they hugged good-bye at the airport, they promised to put the petty jealousies and arguments of the past behind them and make an effort to not just be sisters, but friends – real friends.

And then the unthinkable happened. As long as she lived, she would never forget her roommate waking her up in the middle of the night, saying her parents were on the phone and she needed to get up and talk to them. Her mother sobbed uncontrollably, and her father struggled to maintain his composure as he shared what little they knew about what had happened.

Sighing, she had to admit that good had come from her sister's murder. It made her change her major from English to anthropology with a concentration in forensics, go on to get her Masters, and then on to get her Ph.D. Now she was the person investigators and bereaved families called when they needed help. She felt like she was honoring Kathryn with whatever she could do for someone else.

Wiping her eyes, and with a renewed sense of determination, Ainsley turned her attention back to the case files Mac had faxed to her. "Focus," she whispered to herself. "Focus."

XXXXX

By the time her plane landed at La Guardia, Ainsley was raring to go. She had read the case files thoroughly, again and again, committing every detail to memory. She packed up her laptop quickly, then willed the passengers deplaning ahead of her to hurry the hell up. She needed to have a sit-down with Mac and the much-ballyhooed David Rossi and get to work. Time was wasting.

Mac had given her a description of Julia Brennan, the NYPD homicide detective who would be meeting her at the airport and delivering her to the crime lab. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she hadn't been able to hold back her laughter when Mac said, "Julie will be the pissed off-looking redhead who will tell you in no uncertain terms that she is above playing chauffeur for 'experts' she has no patience or need for. Oh, and she'll be wearing jeans and a black shirt, and probably a black leather jacket too."

His description was spot-on. Not that she'd expect anything less from Mac. She had worked with many detectives and CSIs since she had become a forensic scientist, and he was in her top five, maybe even her top three.

She squared her shoulders and strode confidently through the arrivals area. "Detective Brennan?" she asked, sticking out her hand. "Ainsley Hamilton."

Julie blinked twice at the attractive woman in her mid-30s who was looking at her expectantly. This was Dr. Ainsley Hamilton? She had been looking for a frumpy woman in her fifties, as frumpy as women in their fifties could be. She couldn't believe it.

Giving herself a mental shake, she took Ainsley's hand in a perfunctory greeting, not bothering to hide her surprise. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Hamilton. I've heard a lot about you. Shall we grab your bags and go?"

"Yes – and please, call me Ainsley."

That soft, Southern drawl made Julie decide that she officially hated this woman only minutes after meeting her. "Sure," she replied brusquely. "Mac is waiting for you. And David Rossi should be at headquarters by the time we get there – he was driving up from Quantico."

Once they were on the way to the crime lab, Ainsley tried to make conversation. "What do we know?"

Julie snorted derisively. "Not much – Mac's waiting for _you_ to come tell _him_."

Ainsley shifted uncomfortably and looked out the window. Clearly her presence wasn't welcome by everyone. She wasn't surprised, though; the "locals" often didn't take kindly to outside help. Why should the NYPD be any different?

They rode in silence until they were just a few blocks from the crime lab, then Julie spoke up. "Look, Ainsley, I'm sure you're very good at what you do, but you've got to understand...so are we." Part of her felt justified in her coolness, the other part of her felt like she was just being a bitch. "Mac says you're the best and you've got a handle on this guy that we don't...I've got to trust his judgment, hard as that may be."

Ainsley sighed; she could understand where Julie was coming from and wanted to be straight with her. "I am familiar with this perp, if he's who Mac thinks he is. He murdered my older sister. Don't worry, Detective Brennan – I'm not here to step on toes or make anyone look or feel incompetent. I'm here to do a job, and when it's done, I'm on the first plane back to Atlanta."

Julie was stunned; she didn't know what to say. This perp could be her sister's killer. Why the hell hadn't Mac told her? Did he think it an inconsequential fact or did he think she didn't need to know? Either way, she'd make sure she confronted him when she could get him alone for a minute.

She glanced at her passenger, who stared straight ahead stoically. "I'm sorry...I didn't know."

Ainsley shrugged. "Not your fault. And while I may have a personal interest in this case, you may rest assured that I will not let it cloud my judgment. Mac knows I want to catch this bastard so bad I can taste it but I won't do anything to compromise the investigation or myself as a professional. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

XXXXX

David Rossi nodded his thanks to the uniformed officer who'd been stuck to him like glue since he'd arrived at the NYPD. FBI credentials could get one a lot of places, but they did not allow one to get past security and find his own way to Mac Taylor's office. He chalked it up to security and allowed himself to be escorted to the tenth floor.

The door to Mac's office was ajar but from the other side Rossi could see his old friend sitting at his desk, on the phone, and hear him barking orders at the unfortunate person who just happened to be on the other end of the line. He knocked softly, and Mac spun around in his chair and waved him in. "Give me a minute," he whispered. "I would offer you a Scotch, but I don't normally keep a bottle here at the office."

Rossi chuckled and shook his head as he sat down. As he waited, he took in the awards and plaques that decorated the walls, and wondered again why the FBI hadn't been able to tempt Mac away from the NYPD. He was that good. He would've made a hell of an agent.

When Mac ended his call, he stood up and reached out to shake Rossi's hand. "Good to see you, man," he said with a smile. "I only wish this was a social call."

"Me too. It's been too long. What's the latest?"

"We've I.D.'d our victims, but I'll wait to fill you in on the rest until Ainsley gets here. Julie went to the airport to pick her up."

"Julie, huh?" He raised a brow. "You're still seeing her? After what? A year?"

"Don't look so surprised," Mac returned. "We've got a good thing going."

"I'd say you do – at least she understands your work. That's more than I can say for numbers one through three and the others in between and since."

"I take it you're enjoying the single life again?"

"Mostly," Rossi admitted, "but I must say...the older I get, the more I want to settle down."

Mac nodded as if to say, "Sure."

"For real! I mean it!" he protested. "But if you know any unattached, undemanding ladies who'd enjoy dinner and sparkling conversation while I'm in town, feel free to hook me up."

"Even if I did, I wouldn't – I know you too well. Besides, you're not going to have any free time while you're here."

As if on cue Julie came busting in, not noticing Rossi, and positioned herself in front of Mac's desk. "Sorry we took so long. Traffic was a bitch. But what else is new?"

Rossi put a finger to his lips and grinned at Mac as he sneaked up behind Julie and wrapped his arms around her waist, causing her to gasp. "So if it isn't the NYPD's hottest, sexiest homicide detective...." He nuzzled her cheek with his and gave her a squeeze.

"And if it isn't the FBI's most accomplished Lothario," she retorted, rolling her eyes, not bothering to look back and see who held her. "Your voice gives you away, Rossi. Now let me go, damn it, and I'll give you a proper hug."

"No time for that," Mac said as he walked over to Ainsley, who lingered at the door and did not seem impressed their banter. He greeted her warmly, trying to ignore the hard stare he could feel Julie giving him, then took her carry-on and suitcase and stowed them behind his desk. "David Rossi, Ainsley Hamilton, Ainsley Hamilton, David Rossi."

When Rossi turned his attention to Ainsley, he was instantly intrigued. He couldn't help himself; he appreciated good-looking women, but he especially appreciated intelligent, good-looking women. He couldn't believe this was the forensic scientist he'd heard so much about, and he wondered how she into a line of work as grizzly as forensics. "A pleasure to meet you," he murmured, holding her hand for a second longer than necessary. "I've read your articles – you're cutting edge."

Ainsley gave him a polite smile and drew her hand away, secretly pleased by his compliment. He was even better looking in person than he was on television and in the photos on the dust jackets of his books. "Thank you. I'm familiar with your work too. But everything we've done between us won't mean a damn thing unless we catch this son of a bitch."

A spitfire, he said to himself admiringly – no doubt about that. "Now that Ainsley's here," he said to Mac, reminding himself that they had convened for a reason, "why don't you fill me in?"

Before Mac could answer Ainsley spoke up. "Greg Hansen. He was the last person to see my sister and the other vics before their deaths."

Rossi's brow furrowed. "You know who our Unsub is?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically, glancing at Mac. "We knew it then, when my sister, Kathryn, was murdered, and when the other vics were found, but there hasn't been enough concrete evidence to charge him."

"Why do you need me, then, if you know who you're after?" he asked.

"He's a playwright here in the city," Mac explained, "and he has a severe inferiority complex – so severe that we believe he's schizotypal. We need your help on the psychological end of the case now, and, hopefully, at trial. If we have the profile wrong, we need to know now."

"Okay," he nodded, "I'm on board with that, but don't people with that personality disorder typically feel a strong need for social isolation?"

Ainsley sighed and looked directly at him, giving him a chance to notice that her eyes were most unusual shade of green he'd ever seen. "Yes, but Hansen is different – he's gone in the other direction. If you'll look up schizotypal personality disorder in the DSM, you'll find that Hansen fits most of the criteria, though he isn't as socially isolated as most."

"Wait," Julie interrupted. "What's the cause of this personality disorder? Does anyone know?"

Mac nodded. "Best we could figure at the time, his inferiority complex started after an acting professor at NYU told him that his work – performing and playwriting – was terrible, that he might as well drive a taxi or drive a garbage truck. As you can imagine, that hit him hard, but instead of destroying his confidence, it made him more determined to prove himself."

"And he presented himself as a talented, up-and-coming playwright to young actresses like my sister, who were willing to take a chance with anyone who seemed like someone," Ainsley added. "He gets off knowing that he's pulled one over on the very people who don't want him...the people who actually have a chance."

"Tell me about the murders," Rossi said. "How did he get his victims alone?"

"We know the first two victims met him at his apartment, but when my CSI team went there, we could find no evidence that a crime had been committed – no blood evidence, no trace evidence, just a few hairs belonging to the victims," Mac answered. "Surveillance video showed the vics leaving his building, Hansen going out only a few minutes later. We think he followed them, got them somewhere secluded, and then struck."

"No forensics at the crime scene?"

"Nothing to make a charge stick."

"I see," Rossi said as he stood up. "Well? What are we waiting for? Let's get to it. Can someone get me your original profile?"


	4. Act 4

XXXXX

Greg Hansen laughed disdainfully and shook his head as he turned off the television. Mac Taylor had just finished a press conference – a review, as he saw it – of his latest performance. Taylor was like a theater critic: quick to pass judgment, and slow to give praise. But what did he know? What did theater critics know? Nothing. They were amateurs, fucking amateurs. They'd never poured their hearts and souls out on the boards only to be told they should find another profession, any profession, the sooner, the better.

Hansen had to admit that he admired the NYPD. It wouldn't give up. Not that he really expected it to. Detective Taylor and his minions had shadowed his every move for weeks after each victim was found, and he apparently planned on doing so again. Just this afternoon, as Hansen was on his way back to his apartment from the bodega on the corner, he noticed two uniforms following him, then drop back, and a plainclothes detective pick up where they left off.

Like the NYPD, Hansen didn't give up easily. Sure, he'd been dissed by practically everyone, from his parents to his siblings to his profs at NYU to his so-called friends. They'd smiled and tried to be nice when they encouraged him to think about pursuing another career, but he could feel their pity and held a deep-seated resentment of their know-it-all attitudes. His stomach churned...his face grew hot...he felt like an utter failure...he wanted to destroy instead of create...he wanted to kill.

He stood abruptly and walked to his bedroom, where his computer was set up. The blonde who had stood to Taylor's right during the press conference had caught his attention. He'd seen her before, but he couldn't place where, exactly.

It occurred to him that the NYPD website might have video of the press conference and identify the people on the podium with Taylor. Within seconds, he had his answer – Ainsley Hamilton. He remembered smiling as he watched her read a statement on behalf of her family following the death of her sister Kathryn, a beautiful and promising young actress who was too uppity for someone in her position. He even remembered laughing as he read an article in the metro section of the _New York Times _that quoted her. "My sister did not deserve to die so young, in such a brutal manner...." Oh, she'd deserved it.

But what was she doing, standing in front of reporters and TV cameramen and photographers with Mac Taylor? What was her involvement? A Google search turned up thousands of hits, most of them having to do with forensics in some way or another.

The video on the NYPD's website featured a sound bite he'd missed earlier. It came from Ainsley, who said with barely-concealed contempt,"He's on borrowed time."

Something about it made shiver.

Something about the way she clenched her fists told him that she meant what she said.

Something about the set of her jaw told him that she was determined.

Something about the way she stared at the camera reminded him of the theater professor who'd dashed his dreams so long ago.

Something about her said that she was his next victim, that she'd be his favorite so far....

XXXXX

"Get a good night's rest," Mac said seriously as he and Ainsley stpeed into the hallway outside his office. "Tomorrow is going to be even longer than today, and I want you at your best."

"I will be," she replied, giving him a tired smile. "This would be difficult enough if I were just Kathryn's sister and not an investigator...but I'll consider my involvement added motivation."

"I knew you would; that's why I asked you up here. Don't get me wrong – we need and want your expertise, but there's also a part of me that just wanted you to be here when we finally nail Hansen's ass to the wall. You need closure."

She closed her eyes and brought her hand to her forehead as she nodded. "I do, and so does my family, and the other victims' families."

Just then Rossi emerged from the conference room where he and Ainsley had met with Mac and his team. "I've got the profile, Ainsley – shall we go?"

"Might as well. We'll be back soon enough. What time, Mac? Six?"

"Six in the morning?" Rossi repeated. "Its nearly midnight now."

"Good to know you can tell time, Agent Rossi," Ainsley shot back, allowing herself a light moment with him. "Yes, I meant six tomorrow morning."

Rossi glanced at Ainsley and shook his head, then glanced at Mac. "You know I don't do anything before eight, at least – well, unless I've been up all night, that is."

"Yes, but you're on New York City time, not Quantico time," Mac chuckled. "How about seven? Is that a fair compromise?"

"Fine with us," Ainsley answered for herself and for Rossi. "We'll see you then."

The hotel where Mac had booked rooms for them was only a few blocks away from the crime lab. The night was crisp and cool, perfect for walking and winding down before bed, and he noticed that she took a deep, calming breath once they were outside.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You're welcome. Listen, I hope you didn't get the wrong impression earlier, when you and Julie arrived. I wouldn't greet just anyone like that. Mac and I have been friends for years, and I've had occasion to be around Julie, get to know her."

"Oh, yeah? Since you know her, maybe you can tell me why she has such a chip on her shoulder. She's been giving me the 'go-to-hell' vibe since she picked me up at the airport."

Rossi sighed and walked half a step closer to Ainsley, the red-blooded male in him taking over. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her all evening – throughout their briefing with Mac and Julie and the CSIs working the case, throughout their late bite to eat with Mac at McGee's Pub – and he found himself wondering what her situation was. He had been involved with colleagues before, and he knew better, but already he could tell she was something else entirely. First, she wasn't an agent; second, she actually had a brain to go along with her looks; and three, she was focused and determined, qualities he had always found incredibly sexy but failed to find in one woman.

"To understand her, you have to understand her upbringing," he began. "When she was seven she lost her mother to breast cancer. Her father loved her and took care of her, but he raised her just as he had her four older brothers...to be tough, to be self-reliant, to not take shit from anyone. They're all cops, by the way – her father _and_ her brothers."

She nodded. "I see...that certainly explains the hard exterior."

"Julie's great once you get to know her."

"You mean once she realizes you're not a threat?"

He noticed a slight smile playing on her lips and chuckled. "You could put it that way."

"I tried to tell her that I had no ulterior motives in coming," she continued, serious again. "I just want to close this case."

Rossi noticed that Ainsley's voice was colored by pain and sadness he could not begin to imagine. Instead of looking ahead, she looked down, obviously trying to hold back tears she had cried many times before. "I'm sorry," he said gently as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, without thinking. "I could tell you and Kathryn were close, from the way you talked about her earlier."

"We were when we were growing up," she admitted, "but we drifted apart as we got older, went our separate ways. When she moved to New York, she invited me for a visit, and we agreed that we wanted to repair our relationship, to be close again. The next thing I know, I'm getting a call from my parents telling me she's gone, and I'm enrolling in an anthropology program, studying forensics."

Suddenly she straightened up and drew away from him, as if she realized she had revealed a well-hidden part of herself in a moment of weakness. She seemed relieved as she stopped and looked down at the address Mac had given them, then up at the canopy overhanging the hotel's entrance.

"This is us," she said. "And not a moment too soon – I don't know about you, but I'm about to drop. Remind me to thank Mac for having our bags brought over earlier."

She was trying for levity, he could tell, but her eyes and voice betrayed her. She murmured a quick thank you to the doorman and hurried to the elevators, forcing him to lengthen his strides to catch up with her.

He made it inside the elevator just as she was reaching for the "door open" button to allow two older couples to enter. "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "You'll have to wait for the next."

They stared at him, puzzled, but didn't have a chance to protest. As soon as the doors closed, she turned to him and asked, "What the hell was that about?"

He gazed into her eyes, thinking he could very easily get lost in them, but said solemnly, "I just wanted to tell you that we'll get him, Ainsley...I promise you, we'll get him."

"I know," she replied, swallowing hard. "It just can't happen soon enough. Sometimes I'll catch myself thinking this is a nightmare and I'll wake up, but I never do."

Her breath hitched in her throat when he laid a strong hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You will." His voice was barely above a whisper. "We won't stop until we do, until you get your peace of mind back."

God, he was intense, she thought as she forced herself to look away and take a step back. Under different circumstances, it would be so easy to open up to him, but she couldn't, hadn't been able to get close to anyone since Kathryn's murder. How could she enjoy living when her sister hadn't had the chance?

Much to her relief, the elevator slowed to a stop, and before Rossi could even say good night, she was gone, already opening the door to her room.


	5. Act 5

XXXXX

Julia Brennan was pissed. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. Knowing her as well as he did, Mac recognized it early in the evening. What he couldn't figure out, however, was just what had her so angry.

She spent most of the evening in a slow boil and then turned down dinner at McGee's Pub. That alone proved something was not right. She loved McGee's bacon and cheese fries and rarely passed up a chance to indulge.

He knew he should have gone after her when she said she felt sick and walked out of his office, but he had to take Ainsley and Rossi to eat, and then back to the crime lab to pick up copies of the files and documents they'd asked to read. Chasing after her would not only expose their relationship – she had been adamant that they not make it known – but only make whatever was wrong worse.

After Ainsley and Rossi left for their hotel, Mac caught a cab to Julie's place in Tribeca. He let himself in with the key she'd given him. Hanging his jacket on the coat tree, he listened for her. The faint sounds of music told him she was in the bathroom.

As he made his way down the hall, the music got louder, but he didn't hear the shower running; instead he heard the steady whoosh of the Jacuzzi jets. Not a good sign. Julie retreated to the tub when she needed to sort things out, usually accompanied by a glass of whiskey.

Sure enough, he found her in the Jacuzzi, her eyes closed, her head back against the rim of the tub, glass of whiskey in her hand. The sounds of Seal were coming from her CD player.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

"Checking on you."

"You saw me, I'm alive," she said dryly, taking another sip of whiskey. "You can go."

"Julie..."

She opened her eyes and sat upright and turned off the jets. "Mac, please...don't."

He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. "You're pissed."

"And you are just a freaking genius."

"What did I do?"

"You really don't know?"

"If I did, would I have asked?"

She sighed heavily. "You – along with every other Y chromosome holder in that room – were so wrapped up in every word that Ainsley Hamilton uttered that you totally blew me off."

"Julie..."

She held up a hand, water and bubbles running down her arm. "Don't even try it...she just went on and on in her Southern drawl and you all were simply hypnotized."

"We were not," he said, with a laugh, hoping she'd see she was being ridiculous.

She raised a brow. "Oh no? You were listening so intently that you were watching her lips. And don't try to say you weren't, because I saw you. Dave was watching just about any part of her anatomy he could lay his eyes on, practically drooling, probably trying to think of how he could get in her pants, and Donnie and Messer were just too stupefied to do or say anything. I could've turned into a four-headed hydra and you wouldn't have noticed."

"That's not true," he protested. "You were as much a part of that meeting as Ainsley was."

"Maybe I was," she countered, standing up and snatching a towel from the rack next to the tub, "but still...you basically blew me off, Mac."

He watched as she wrapped her wet body in the large towel, wanting like hell to take her into his arms and make her forget this whole discussion, but he sat and watched as her eyes narrowed and she resumed her tirade.

"Even if I had something useful to say, nobody would've noticed, because my words don't come wrapped in a pretty accent. What is it with you, Taylor? I'm just fine and dandy til a piece of ass with an accent comes along and then all of a sudden I'm invisible." With that, she left the room.

He took a moment to allow the sting of her words to subside. He thought they'd put his relationship with Peyton behind them, but, apparently, they hadn't. He and Julie had been dancing around each other for years, and he thought it was all play until he took up with Peyton. By that time, it was too late do anything about it.

When Peyton broke up with him, Julie was there. She listened, she cared, she got him through and sometime after the whole ordeal with Drew Bedford ended, he found himself looking at her through different eyes. After a night of too much alcohol and too much talking, she admitted she'd always thought they would make a great couple. He admitted that he thought so too, but didn't take her playful flirting as anything more.

That night, she proved him wrong. She leaned across the sofa and kissed him, igniting a spark that carried them from her living room to her bedroom and a long night of passionate lovemaking.

Pulling himself from those thoughts, he followed her into her bedroom, arriving just in time to watch her pull an oversized navy blue Yankees t-shirt over her head.

"You're still here?"

"Yes."

She turned and studied him. "You're not getting any."

"That's not why I came."

"Well, then, why the hell did you come?"

"I pissed you off and I needed to apologize," he explained. "I didn't intentionally ignore you, and neither did anyone else."

"I think I'm going to adopt an accent..."

"Have you listened to yourself talk?" he retorted, knowing as the words left his lips that he was treading on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground.

"And what's wrong with the way I talk?"

"You have an accent."

"I do not."

"Julie, you're from Brooklyn. You have an accent."

"Great! So instead of a Southern belle or a British princess, I sound like a freakin' cabbie. You're not helping yourself, Taylor."

"So you're that pissed at me because we supposedly snubbed you?"

"That's part of it."

Mac ran his hands over his face and tried to regroup. He had long ago learned that this woman could try the patience of a saint; now was no exception.

"It's late, we're both tired. Want to let me in on the rest?"

In a voice that was little more than a hiss she said, "Was there a reason you neglected to tell me about Ainsley's sister? Did you want to set me up to be an insensitive jerk or was that an extra added bonus? You know? Make the Brooklyn cabbie out to be a bitch, so everyone gives more sympathy to – "

"Julie, that's enough!"

Her eyes grew wide. "Don't you dare..."

"What do you want me to say? Huh? Stop playing games and spit it out!"

Despite the frustration in his voice, she wasn't ready to let it go. "Nothing," she snapped. "Absolutely nothing. It doesn't matter and I'm going to bed."

"Good," he agreed, loosening his tie. "It's about time."

"Whoa – hang on. I said _I'm_ going to bed, not _we're_ going to bed."

"I m not leaving while you're still mad at me," he said simply.

"Well, you're not sleeping with me," she countered, grabbing a pillow and the comforter from the bed. "Here. You can sleep on the sofa."

He shrugged. "Okay, fine. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Good."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

She slipped into bed. "Good night."

"Good night," he replied, walking out of the room.

XXXXX

Early the next morning, a storm front blew through, bringing with it an intense thunderstorm. Julie had tossed and turned since she'd gone to bed, and when she had finally fallen asleep, her dreams had been disturbed by her argument with Mac. The storm woke her once and for all with a clap of thunder that seemed to shake her whole building.

She got up and padded into the living room, deciding to watch the storm from the sliding doors that led out to the small balcony overlooking Greenwich Street. There was something soothing about sitting there and watching the rain fall. She'd done it many times and found that it calmed her. Maybe, she thought, tonight's storm would yield the same result.

As she leaned against the door frame, she looked over to the sofa, where Mac slept soundly. Not much woke him once he fell asleep. Of course, getting him to fall asleep was usually the problem. He was a workaholic, and although he wasn't as bad as he was since they'd been together, there were nights he would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling long after she'd gone to dreamland.

She smiled, studying him. His face was peaceful, calm, rested. She swore he looked years younger when he let the weight of the world fall away. Despite how uncomfortable it was to actually sleep on her sofa, he slept, curled on his side, arms wrapped around the pillow she'd tossed at him earlier. As pissed off as she was then, she couldn't help but wish it was her body that he held in his arms now.

She looked out onto the street again, watching as the rain fell in steady sheets and a scary bolt of lightning struck nearby, followed by a loud clap of thunder. The rain began to fall harder.

She was so transfixed that she didn't hear Mac as he crept up behind her and slipped his arms around her. As he kissed the side of her neck, she smiled.

"Did I wake you?"

"Mother nature did," he replied, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Some storm we're having."

"Yeah."

"Julie," he began quietly, "I'm sorry."

"I guess I might have over reacted," she allowed. "The remark about Peyton was uncalled for."

"It was deserved." He turned her to face him, still holding her securely in his arms. "You need to know that I am in love with you."

"I do know..."

"Obviously you don't or you wouldn't have been upset with me."

She shrugged, not willing to give in just yet, no matter how good it felt to have him hold her.

"I told you, love isn't a word I throw around casually," he continued. "Remember whose idea it was to keep this relationship secret?"

"You know why I feel that way," she replied with a sigh. "I don't want this dragged through the NYPD rumor mill. God, Mac, haven't you been there enough?"

"I know you're concerned, but I don't think there's anything to worry about. We have a strong relationship and I don't doubt my intentions or yours."

"I don't want to have any doubts and I try not to..."

"Well, then, just trust me, okay?"

She studied his face for a moment, wishing she could just suspend her insecurity and do as he asked. She wanted to tell him that she did trust him, that she didn't doubt him, but she couldn't lie. Instead, she pulled him close and kissed him deeply.

Much to her pleasure, he didn't pull away but held her tight and returned the kiss. He understood her and this proved it. He wasn't going to make her say empty words, he wasn't going to push her where she wasn't ready to go, and for that, and so many other reasons, she did love him.

"Mac," she breathed as his hands slipped beneath her t-shirt.

"What?"

"I love you," she said softly, leaning in for another kiss.

She didn't want to talk any more, didn't want to think. She just wanted to make love to him and turn off her mind to everything else.

"Then trust me," he whispered again, his lips brushing hers.

"I'll try."

"That's all I ask...."

XXXXX

Rossi kept one eye on the door to the crime lab and the other on the profile and related documents that covered his makeshift desk in Mac's office, waiting for Ainsley to make an appearance. She had been working with Stella and Danny since before his arrival that morning.

At twenty till seven, he took the elevator to the lobby, thinking he would meet up with her in the breakfast room and they would walk together to the crime lab. He should've known she would already be gone, as eager as she'd been the night before to get started. The time on her hastily-written note letting him know that she'd gone ahead was 6:30. He'd just missed her.

It was nearly eleven before she emerged from the lab, and though she was wearing the standard white coat, she nearly stopped his heart. Her long, blonde hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and the violet silk shell she wore beneath it made her eyes stand out against her pale skin. He doubted she'd slept much.

He got up and quickly followed her to the break room. "Leave something behind this morning, Ainsley?" he asked, leaning against the door.

She kept her back to him as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Don't think so, Agent Rossi. Why?"

"Me," he replied shortly, his voice low, though they were the only two people in the break room.

"What about you?"

He ignored her comment and crossed the room in three long strides. When he spoke again, his tone and his warm breath on her neck sent shivers up her spine – shivers she hadn't felt in years.

"_You_ left without _me_."

She cleared her throat as she stirred creamer into her coffee. He was standing so close, she could feel his presence, smell his masculine scent. David Rossi was not the type of man a woman messed with, unless she was looking for the love 'em and leave 'em type, which Ainsley Hamilton certainly was not. Professionally she was impressed, personally...she couldn't let herself go there.

"I woke up early and decided to go for a run," she explained easily. "By the time I got back I figured I might as well get ready for the day and get on over here."

"You went running by yourself before dawn?" He took a step closer.

"Yes," she answered slowly, clearly, as if he were hard of hearing or simply hard of understanding. "I did. I go just about every morning at home in Atlanta."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and made her turn around and look at him. "This isn't Atlanta. This is New York City. Who knows what could've happened to you!"

There was fire in her eyes and ice in her voice. "I am well aware of the differences, Agent Rossi, and I could quote some statistics about Atlanta that would make even your hair curl, but that doesn't mean I should give up my run, does it?"

Sighing, he released her shoulders. "No, it doesn't, Ainsley, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed. "I attended the FBI Academy at Quantico and received additional training from the 'muscle' of the DEA's Atlanta field office – I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

She was right, of course, but she struck him as a strong yet vulnerable woman. The contrast concerned him, stirred his protective side. Deciding to change the subject before he could dig himself deeper into a hole, he asked, "You attended the FBI Academy? When? I don't remember seeing you around."

She laughed in spite of herself. "I was there while you were on your hiatus or whatever you want to call it. And I doubt you would've remembered me."

"Au contraire," he said, smiling mischievously. "Believe me...if I saw you once, I'd never forget you. And speaking of forgetting," he added as turned for the door, "you can make this morning up to me by going out with me tonight, after we get out of here. Don't let it slip your mind."

Ainsley simply stared at his retreating form. Even if she had argued, she doubted it would've done any good. He was determined. Maybe almost as determined as she was.


	6. Act 6

XXXXX

"So," Rossi said as Mac drove them to Hansen's apartment, "do you think this visit will get us anywhere?"

"To be honest, I don't know," Mac replied. "I just want to ask him a few questions, let him know we've got our eye on him."

"Tighten the screws, huh?"

"Exactly. If we can shake him up, we might shake something loose."

"What's the latest from Ainsley on forensics? I stopped in to see her earlier, but she shooed me out of the lab before I had a chance to ask about her end of the investigation." He smiled briefly to himself, thinking about finding her bent over a microscope looking at the maggots that had been recovered from the bodies, her brow furrowed, her hair pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail. "She said she was busy and I should be too."

Mac chuckled. "She's just getting started, but apparently there's more physical evidence for her to work with than there was for us with the previous murders. She was hoping the maggots would help her determine the exact time of death, within an hour or so, of our vics before she met up with our M.E., Sid Hammerback, later."

"That's good. Do you have any idea why Hansen has waited nearly ten years to kill again? If he is indeed our Unsub?"

"Actually, I do...I had Flack check up on him. Not long after the Elena Judson murder – the second victim _after_ Kathryn – he started writing with a partner, and they staged a few off-off-Broadway shows, then he went to London, where he landed some minor roles. I guess the old saying is true in his case – 'Idle hands are the devil's workshop.'"

Rossi nodded, considering what Mac had just said. "Makes sense. As long as he feels good about himself, worthy, he doesn't feel the need to kill."

"Stella called this morning and left a message for the lead detective, asking him to call her back."

When they arrived at Hansen's apartment building, Mac looked at Rossi. "You ready?"

"Absolutely."

They took the stairs to Hansen's apartment on the third floor quickly and quietly.

"Greg Hansen!" Mac yelled as he knocked on Hansen's door. "NYPD! Open up!"

There was silence, then a muffled reply. "Coming!"

When Hansen opened the door, Rossi was surprised at what he saw – a small, fair-skinned man who didn't look as if he could harm a fly. Experience had taught him, though, that even slight provocations could send even the most mild-seeming people into murderous rages.

"Detective Taylor," he said dispassionately, though Rossi noticed that his hands shook ever so slightly.

"You remember me?"

"How could I forget you?"

Mac didn't respond but turned and nodded at Rossi. "This is SSA David Rossi, from the FBI. Mind if we come in?"

"Why?" he asked, eying them suspiciously.

"We won't stay long."

Hansen hesitated, then stepped back and held the door open.

"It's been a while," Mac began conversationally as he sat down on a barstool. Rossi took a chair at the table, a position that gave him a view of most of the apartment. Hansen remained standing.

"Yes, it has."

"Looks like you're busy," Rossi spoke up, glancing toward the coffee table in the living room where a notebook computer and a small printer were set up. The table was littered with crumpled sheets of paper. "Are you doing a lot of writing these days?"

At that, Hansen suddenly lost the control he had fought to hang onto. His fists were clenched at his sides and his face grew red. "Why don't you just tell me why you're here? I know this isn't a social call."

Mac's expression and tone didn't change; he looked right at Hansen. "Vicki Hurst and Maria Graves – do you know them? Or, I should say, _did_ you know them?"

"No," Hansen answered quickly, too quickly.

"Shall we try that question again?" Rossi asked as he got up from the table and walked into the living room. "We know you were supposed to audition them Thursday evening. According to Vicki's day planner, the three of you were to meet at seven."

Hansen swallowed hard and he rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his khakis as he shot anxious glances at Rossi, who was taking a careful look at the bookshelves. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure," Mac nodded. "They're your types exactly – young, eager, very attractive blondes..."

"Talented," Rossi added, "but in need of someone to just give them a chance...one chance to make it big."

"You're well-connected, aren't you, Hansen?" Mac continued, turning around in his stool to watch as Hansen walked over to Rossi and jerked a book out of his hand and replaced it on the shelf. "You know a lot of people...surely you'd be willing to help, make some introductions."

Hansen sighed angrily and stalked to the window. "You're looking at the wrong person."

Mac and Rossi traded glances. "We are?" Rossi asked.

"Yes. We did have an audition, but they canceled. They got a better offer."

"Why should we believe you? You've as much as admitted that you lied once," Mac pointed out.

"Oh, and I'm the only person you've ever encountered who isn't always completely honest? The NYPD has a lot of lawsuits pending, Detective Taylor, thanks to people like you – people who rush to judgment instead of serving and protecting."

In a second Mac had Hansen against the wall. "I wouldn't be so smug if I were you."

"Oh yeah?" Hansen sneered. "What would you be?"

"Scared."

"Let him go," Rossi muttered as he placed a hand on Mac's shoulder. "We know we'll be back...and so does Mr. Hansen."

XXXXX

Ainsley stuck her head out of the lab where she'd been going through the forensic evidence from the crime scenes with Stella and Danny and looked both ways. There was no sign of Rossi. "If I can just make it out of the building and back to the hotel," she said to herself as she walked quickly down the hallway to Mac's office to grab her jacket and leather messenger bag, "I'll be in the clear."

It wasn't entirely that she didn't want to go to dinner with him. She was stressed about the case and didn't feel right about taking a break while Hansen was still out there. She'd only gotten an hour, two hours, tops, of sleep the night before, and she'd had a long day. She could tell from the dull ache behind her eyes and the tension in her neck and shoulders that she'd crash soon, and when she did, she'd be out till morning.

But if she were honest with herself – completely honest – she would admit that the idea of being alone with him made her nervous. She had sworn off men, especially men like Rossi – men who could, if given the opportunity, drive a woman crazy, good crazy or bad crazy or both. There was no way in hell she was going to go down that road with a man she might have a professional relationship with in the future...no matter how sexy or smart or suave she found him.

She was so preoccupied as she gathered her things that she didn't hear the footsteps approach or the door open and close. Rossi's deep voice startled her.

"Ainsley. I was just coming to look for you."

Son of a bitch! She'd been caught. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart, and then plastered a smile on her face as she turned around. "Agent Rossi."

"Don't you think you could call me Dave?" he asked. "I don't call you Dr. Hamilton, do I?"

"No..." When he looked at her the way he was looking at her now, as if he were peering into her very soul, it was very hard to be firm or to concentrate. He was a distraction, and she didn't need or want a distraction. "You don't."

"You could call me David, if you like – it's more formal."

Now he was just playing with her, enjoying her obvious discomfort, and she decided to show him that she could play too. "If it's all the same to you," she replied evenly as she squared her shoulders, "I'll just stick with Agent Rossi."

"If you say so," he sighed, feigning defeat.

She wasn't moved. "I do."

"You weren't trying to sneak out, were you?"

"You don't have to make it sound as if you're my father and you caught me climbing out my bedroom window to meet my no-account boyfriend."

"I didn't," he answered. "At least I don't think I did...and let me assure you, I don't look on you as a father would a daughter – anything but, in fact."

She decided to ignore that comment; right now he was looking on her as a dog might look on a bone. "To answer your question, no, I wasn't sneaking out. I'm exhausted, and I thought I'd head back to the hotel. To my credit," she added, "I was going to leave you another note."

"You're lying."

Her mouth flew open in surprise.

"Want to know how I know?" She still didn't respond; he shook his head and chuckled. "You've got your jacket and your bag, so I know you were headed somewhere. When I came in, you acted like you were getting ready to turn for the door. If you had been planning to leave me a note, you would've turned away from the door, going to leave it on the other side of the room, with my briefcase, where I'd be sure to see it. Really, Ainsley, you should've known better," he concluded, giving her a smug smile.

"If I'm not going to get out of dinner," she bargained, "how about letting me go to the hotel to change clothes? I'd really like to put on jeans and a t-shirt and different shoes....my feet are killing me."

"Whatever you say."

"Meet you in the lobby at, say, 8:30?"

"Sounds good. But if you even think of standing me up again, I'll know it."

She rolled her eyes as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "You're good, Agent Rossi – I'll give you that."

"Eight-thirty, Ainsley," he grinned. "Don't keep me waiting."

XXXXX

Rossi was waiting in the lobby of the hotel for Ainsley when she stepped off the elevator promptly at 8:30. He glanced at his watch, causing her to laugh.

"What? It's 8:30 on the dot! I'm here and I'm ready. Let's go."

She seemed to be in a better humor, having had time to rest and change, and he cast an admiring glance in her direction as they walked briskly in the direction of Little Italy. She wore a snug black t-shirt, its v-neck showing off her smooth, creamy skin and enough cleavage to make him want to see more, fashionably faded jeans that fit perfectly in all the right places, black flats and a hint of make-up. Under other circumstances, he might have wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, maybe even pressed a kiss to her temple.

Thirty minutes later, they were seated at a table for two at Carmine's. The food and atmosphere never failed to lift his spirits when he found himself down and out in New York, and he hoped it would do the same for her.

The waiter came to their table carrying a bottle of wine. "We didn't order that," Ainsley spoke up.

Rossi kept quiet and let the waiter reply. "Oh, I know, ma'am, but Carmine himself sent it out to Mr. Rossi and his guest."

She looked at Rossi and raised her eyebrows. "Carmine himself?"

He nodded as the waiter opened the bottle and poured them each a glass. "Yeah...we grew up across the street from each other in Chicago."

So that explained how they had simply walked in and been immediately seated at the best table in the restaurant, she reasoned. They knew him here. He'd probably called, and the instant he told them who he was, they'd jumped through hoops to accommodate him.

When the waiter left, he raised his glass in a toast. "To a successful end."

She nodded and took a small sip, then set her glass down out of easy reach. "You don't like it?" he asked, frowning. "We can get another bottle if – "

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "It's very good. I don't drink when I'm working."

"You were working earlier, but you're not working now," he pointed out.

"I know, but if I have one glass, I'll want another, and maybe another after that, and I'll wake up with a headache tomorrow morning."

"No, you won't," he chuckled. "Not if you pace yourself, eat a good meal, and have a glass of water before you go to bed. Trust me – I know. I usually drink Scotch but it isn't as good with the spaghetti as this Chianti."

"Okay," she sighed with a hint of sarcasm. "I'll drink the wine – but just this glass."

They settled into easy conversation, which didn't let up even after their waiter had brought out their food. They talked about themselves, their work, their families, their hobbies, laughed and joked. Ainsley even allowed Rossi to pour her another glass of wine.

"Feel like dessert?" he asked as she took the last sip.

"Oh, no...I'm going to have to run at least an extra mile tomorrow morning to work this meal off. It'll go straight to my hips."

He shrugged. "So what? I happen to like women with hips."

His words hung in the air between them. When she could take his stare no longer, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her fingertips. "Agent Rossi, please."

"Please what?" he pressed. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ainsley – I find you very attractive, inside and out, and I want you to know it. What is it? Do you have someone special back in Atlanta?"

Her reply was sharper than she intended it to be. "No."

"Well, then, tell me...what is it?"

She looked down at her hands and played with her Murano glass ring, Kathryn's Murano glass ring. "I don't do this."

"Do what? Go out and enjoy yourself?"

"I do go out," she replied defensively, berating herself for letting her guard down, "just not often. I'm usually in my office or out at our research site or at a crime scene."

The slow nod he gave her made her want to slap him. "And when you do go out, you don't go out with men."

She should've guessed that he might profile her over dinner, but between the conversation, the food and the wine, he'd made her forget herself. "Okay, hot shot, tell me how you came to that conclusion. Impress me with your profiling skills."

He casually motioned to their waiter for the check, then turned his attention back to her. "I don't need to be a profiler to know that you're not really living your life. You said yourself that you spend most of your time in your office or at your research site or at crime scenes. You said yourself that there is no one waiting for you in Atlanta."

"That doesn't mean – "

He held up his hand. "I'm not finished. You go to bed late every night because you've spent the entire day working at something or another, and you get up early every morning to go running, so obviously there's no one taking you to bed at a decent hour or keeping you there until the sun comes up."

She felt her face growing hot; he'd crossed the line. "Agent Rossi, I will not sit here and let someone I hardly know dissect my personal life. It doesn't have anything to do with the current situation – we're supposed to be catching a serial."

"It has everything to do with the current situation," he argued. "When your sister died, you died too. You changed your major as soon as you could and threw yourself into your studies, then threw yourself into your work. It doesn't take a profiler to see that you have denied yourself the life you believe Kathryn should be living. It all comes back to her murder. Do you think that if we caught this bastard, you might let yourself come back to the land of the living?"

Feeling completely vulnerable, and, for the first time, completely understood, she stood and threw down her linen napkin, her only thought getting away as quickly as possible. "Thank you," she spat, grabbing her bag. "You've just saved me a couple hundred bucks for an hour with a psychiatrist."

He didn't chase after her, just let her go. He wasn't used to being walked away from, certainly not two nights in a row, but, he thought to himself, with a slight smile, that was Ainsley – she wasn't going to put up with what she didn't want to or wasn't ready to hear, no matter who was talking. She'd come around.


	7. Act 7

XXXXX

Ainsley looked at the nylons that had been used to strangle Vicki Hurst and Maria Graves. They were ordinary nylons, could've been purchased any store, anywhere, but those details didn't matter – she knew from preliminary DNA tests that they did indeed belong to the victims. She just needed to find something, anything, to connect them to Hansen, which would connect him to the other victims, Kathryn included, who had been also been found with nylons around their necks. The substitution principle from high school math came to mind – if A is equal to B, and B is equal to C, then A must be equal to C. Not exactly high-tech forensics, but it worked for her purposes.

"Hey, Dr. Ainsley," Danny Messer greeted her as he walked into the lab. "You find anything on those pantyhose?"

She shook her head. "No, but I haven't looked at them under the UV light or the black light yet. Want to help?"

"Sure. I'll take the black light, if that's okay – your trained eyes might see something mine don't with the UV."

They worked in silence, and Ainsley was beginning to feel frustrated when Danny reached out and tapped her shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey," he said excitedly, "I've got fluids!"

"Where?" she asked, taking the black light from him.

"About where Maria Graves' thigh would've been. Think about this – he has her down on the ground, and he's choking her." Danny held the nylons as the killer might have. "We know Maria was the stronger – physically – of the two. Let's say she's fighting back, and he's struggling to finish her off, and in the process, he exerts himself so that his saliva lands on the pantyhose."

"Yeah...I can see that," Ainsley replied as she nodded thoughtfully and continued to examine the sample under the black light. "We don't have much – "

"But enough," Danny finished for her with a grin. "I'll search our databases, see if I can find match."

"And I'll keep looking. DNA could blow this case wide open."

XXXXX

Every time the door opened or the phone rang, Ainsley's breath caught in her throat. She was anxious to hear from Danny, to have him confirm what she had suspected for so long – that it was no coincidence that Greg Hansen was connected to the murders of five young actresses willing to do anything for a break on Broadway – and to finally have solid proof of that suspicion.

She willed herself to concentrate on the task at hand, which was examining Vicki Hansen's pantyhose under the black light to see if maybe, just maybe, the killer had left DNA there and given them another sample to go on. She had just succeeded in shutting out the activity around her when Danny came back.

"BOOM! Got a hit, Dr. A."

"You did?"

"I did. And I think you'll like what I found."

"It belongs to Hansen, doesn't it?"

Danny nodded, and Ainsley didn't wait for him to continue. She took off down the hall to the conference room, hoping to find Mac, though finding Mac and Rossi.

"You can stop," she said, her voice sounding oddly calm though shaky to her own ears. "We've got him."

Rossi stood and tried to make her sit down in his chair, but she resisted. She was as white as a sheet and looked as if she'd just touched a live wire, and, he noticed, not exactly pleased to be face-to-face with him. "Who? Hansen?" he asked.

"Yes!" she replied, as if he were a complete moron. "Danny found a DNA sample on Maria Graves' nylons and matched it to him." She looked back and forth between the two men. "Well? Let's get a warrant! Now!"

Mac glanced at Rossi shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Did you find his DNA on any of Vicki Hurst's personal effects?"

"No, but we're still looking," she shot back. "I don't understand why you two are just sitting there like bumps on a log! Let's go!"

"Ainsley," he said carefully, not wanting to upset her but knowing he had to be straight with her, "our whole case can't rest on one DNA sample. You know that."

"I do, but Mac; this is more than we've ever had! Killers have been put away for life, even sentenced to death, on less!"

"Let's talk about this," Rossi broke in, his hands firm yet gentle on Ainsley's arms as he forced her to sit. His personal part sided with her, but the professional part sided with Mac. "We're not trying to hold up the case, just make sure it sticks."

She took a deep breath, trying not to lose her composure any more than she already had. "Yes," she sighed heavily, not bothering to fight him but returning his stare. "I realize that, but..."

"But we've got a good start," Mac assured her. "He's not as smart as we are, Ainsley, and he knows we're on to him. He'll make a mistake, and when he does, we'll take advantage of it."

"A mistake?" she repeated, her anger making a sudden resurgence. "You mean when he claims another victim?"

Mac stood and walked around his desk to face her. "No," he answered firmly. "But you've got to trust me. You've got to trust _us_. You do, don't you?"

Ainsley looked at the floor, fighting her emotions. "Yes, I do – you know I do. God, Mac, I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't let my personal connection to this case cloud my judgment, but I have. Danny got the hit and I got so riled up – "

"It's okay. It's understandable. You don't have to apologize. Why don't you take a walk, clear your head? It'll do you good to get out of here."

She twisted her hands in her lap. "I'd feel better if I were working. Mind if I take a look the scene of the murder right after Kathryn's? I've gone over the photos, but maybe if I see it for myself, I can find something your CSIs missed – no disrespect to them, of course."

"None taken," Mac chuckled. "Let me call Julie, have her meet you there."

"Thanks."

While Mac called Julie, Rossi took Ainsley aside. "You're sure you're up to this?"

"Yes," she replied, not really smiling at him, but not really frowning at him, either. "I'll have a break but I'll still feel like I'm actively working the case."

"If you're sure...."

"Sure, I'm sure. Don't worry about me."

He ran a hand over his face. "I do. I don't know why, but I do."

"Surely you don't take me for a helpless damsel in distress, in need of a big, strong man to protect me, do you?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"No," he smiled. "Of course not. Listen, I'm sorry about last night...I had no right."

She surprised herself and laid her hand on his. "You didn't, but I forgive you. And I promise you, I'll be fine. I just need to get out, clear my head, like Mac said"

He nodded; relieved she had accepted his apology. "Call me if you need me? If you need anything?"

"I will. See you when I get back."

XXXXX

There wasn't much that spooked Ainsley, but being alone in a dilapidated, abandoned apartment where a young woman had been brutally murdered gave her the willies.

"You're here to do a job, Hamilton," she said out loud. "Just concentrate and stay cool...Julie will be here soon."

The crime scene had been cleaned up, but as a forensics expert, she knew that no matter how thoroughly a scene had been scrubbed, evidence remained. She shone her Maglite over every inch of exposed surface, looking for anything – any little thing – that might be something.

She didn't know how long she'd been working, but later, when questioned by Mac and Rossi, she'd say roughly half an hour. She had finished her inspection of the living room and victim's bedroom and moved on to the kitchen, where the murder had taken place.

Her back was to the door when she heard footsteps behind her. She thought it was strange that Julie hadn't said hello, but, then again, maybe it wasn't. There probably were people Julie wouldn't spit on if they were on fire and begging for mercy.

She went back to opening and closing cabinets and drawers and was taken completely off guard when someone jumped her from behind. "What the hell?" she gasped. "Julie?"

"Try again," he attacker whispered, bringing his forearm tighter against her neck.

The second he spoke, Ainsley knew who had her – Greg Hansen. She had heard his voice once before and vowed she would never forget it. His breath on her neck made her feel dirty and sick to her stomach.

She knew from her self-defense training that she had to stay on her feet; if she went down, she'd have no chance of fighting back. She struggled against Hansen and reached back and up, raking her nails down his neck.

He pushed her toward the back door, causing her to fear that he intended to kidnap her. She kicked furiously with her legs, hoping the heel of her boot would catch his ankle, his knee, his groin, anything, and get him to put her down for a second. A second was all she needed to get turned around and let him have it.

Miraculously, her heel connected with his shin just as her elbow met his chin. She heard him curse then felt a surge of pain as he punched her below her eye. "Get the hell off of me!" she screamed, though she knew it would do no good, as she continued to scratch at him. "Help! Someone, please, help me! _Help me!_"

XXXXX

Julie Brennan navigated the NYPD Avalanche through the crowded streets and willed traffic to move at more than five miles per hour. She was already twenty minutes late to met Ainsley and estimated that she was still fifteen minutes out – and that was when traffic was moving normally.

At long last, she finally arrived at her destination. "Thank the Lord for small mercies," she murmured to herself as she parked in a space in front.

She lifted the crime scene tape and walked into the foyer, then up the stairs to Apartment 1B. She frowned when she saw that the door was shut; Ainsley was supposed to leave it open for her. Not that it mattered – the lock was broken off anyway – but something just didn't sit right with her.

Placing her hand on her holstered Glock, she pushed the door open slowly.

"Ainsley?" she called, walking into the apartment, her eyes sweeping the empty room. "It's Julie...are you here?"

Just then a sound caught her attention. It sounded like a scuffle in one of the back rooms. Pulling her Glock and removing the safety, she walked carefully, quietly toward what she thought would be the kitchen.

"Get the hell off of me!"

Ainsley. That was Ainsley's voice.

Julie sprinted to the back of the house, just in time to see a person in dark clothes and a hooded jacket run out the back door. "Freeze! NYPD!" she yelled. As he ran to the end of the alley, she ran down the stairs and took off after him, only to find that he was gone when she got back out to the street. "Shit!" she exclaimed, turning and running back to the apartment.

She found Ainsley standing in the kitchen, checking herself for broken bones. Her face was beginning to show bruises and her clothing was torn.

"Where is he?"

"I lost him – he was gone when I got to the street."

"It was Hansen," Ainsley declared, her voice shaky. "I know it."

"You saw his face?"

She shook her head. "No – he blitzed me from behind...but I heard his voice..."

"Voice identification is iffy at best."

"But DNA is never wrong," Ainsley said with an evilly triumphant smile as she held up her hands. "I reached back and scratched him. There's plenty of DNA under my nails."

Julie returned her smile. "_Do not touch anything_. I'll get an ambulance and get you to Bellevue."


	8. Act 8

XXXXX

Only when he was four blocks away and sure that he wasn't being followed did he stop. "Damn it," he said to himself as he rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath, "that was close – too close."

The plan had been to scare Kathryn's sister, not get into an altercation with her. He hadn't expected she would fight back like she had. Kathryn had tried to fight back, but she hadn't been strong enough to save her own life. The look of absolute fear and the sight of her eyes bulging out and her blood trickling out of her mouth as he pulled the nylon tighter and tighter around her neck was one of his favorite memories. He'd shown her. He'd shown her that he could break her career. What did she know about good playwriting? Nothing. That was what.

But now he had to face facts. He'd gone to great pains to not leave behind any evidence that would implicate him in the murders of those beautiful young actresses – oh, sure Detective Taylor had plenty of circumstantial evidence, but no physical evidence, nothing that would get an indictment from the D.A.'s office, which had countless lawsuits from the wrongfully accused – but now there had to be DNA evidence. Kathryn's sister had scratched the hell out of him and gotten in several good jabs too.

And then there was the detective who had scared him off. Had she gotten a good look at him? Could she identify him from a line-up? Could she give details of his physical appearance to a sketch artist?

As he thought about it, the angrier he got – not at himself, but at Kathryn's sister, Dr. Hamilton. She would be the one who would take him down. Poetic justice, some might call it, but not him. No. In his mind, turn about was fair play.

He would write the end of his own story, and he would cast the lead actress to play opposite him – Ainsley Hamilton.

She, of all people, knew just how good he was at what he did.

XXXXX

Julie walked into an ER room and found Ainsley lying on a stretcher, her hands in plastic bags, her eyes closed. The bruise on her face was darkening, and despite the cocky attitude that she tried to portray, there was a flicker of fear in her eyes.

"Hey," Julie said, attempting a smile.

Ainsley opened one eye and looked at her. "Did you draw the short straw?"

"The short straw?"

"For processing me?"

"No, that's Stella's job, but I'll be here with you, if that's okay."

Ainsley shrugged. "If you feel the need to be."

Julie took a deep breath; this was not going well. "Listen, Ainsley, I know I haven't been overly warm and friendly to you...."

Ainsley shrugged again. "You've got your reasons."

"But those reasons don't matter. You could've gotten killed today!"

"And that changes your opinion of me how?"

"Will you cut me a damn break?" Julie snapped. "I'm trying to apologize for being a bitch and I'm holding out a freakin' olive branch. This isn't something I'm used to doing!"

Ainsley watched as Julie paced the room, obviously trying to control her breathing. So she really did have a heart under the tough façade. "Okay," she agreed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes again. "I'd appreciate it if you would stay with me. I've seen so many of these exams," she continued, "but I never thought I'd be the one being processed."

Julie put her hand on Ainsley's shoulder. "Stella does a good job. She's thorough, yet gentle. And she's very considerate."

Ainsley nodded, wondering whether thorough yet gentle and considerate Stella would make going through this ordeal any easier. She doubted it.

XXXXX

When Ainsley had given her statement and had been processed, she was moved to a quiet area of the ER to rest until the resident who'd checked her out said she could leave. She wasn't happy about having to stay, but he promised her it was only for a few hours, long enough for him to be certain that she hadn't suffered a serious head injury. "Long enough to make sure I can't sue him and the hospital for malpractice," she muttered sarcastically to Julie, who just patted her hand placatingly.

The attack had shaken her up more than she had let on, but now, even alone, she refused to let herself cry. She knew it wouldn't do any good – if anything, it would only make her headache worse – so she decided to close her eyes and practice deep breathing from yoga.

The sounds of her breathing and the steady beeping of a machine down the hall soon lulled her into a dreamless sleep. When she woke up, she automatically turned to her right to check the time on her alarm clock before she realized where she was and what had happened.

As she sat up slowly and stretched her aching muscles, she became aware of loud voices outside her curtained cubicle. It was Rossi and Julie. They were arguing. About her.

"He knows who she is," Rossi said firmly. "He may come back for her."

"If he knows who she is," Julie argued, "he can find her – at the hotel. She'll be safer with me at my apartment."

Ainsley heard Rossi snort and smiled. "Safer with you than she would be with me? Come on – you can't be serious!"

"Yes, I can! She's already agreed to it!"

Deciding that she'd had enough, and that they needed to be stopped before they hurt each other, she got out of bed and pulled back the curtain. "Would you two shut the hell up? I'm trying to sleep."

Rossi and Julie turned their heads, surprised at seeing her up and on her feet. Rossi was at her side in an instant.

"Ainsley!" He took her face in his hands, cringing at the bruises he saw. "God, Cara," he whispered. "What did he do to you?"

She softened at the concern in his eyes and the gentleness in his touch. "I'm okay," she murmured, closing her eyes briefly. "Really."

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. Flack and I were – "

"Doing interviews," she finished for him. "Mac told me."

He gave her a soft smile. "How are you?"

"Not bad, considering," she nodded, though the movement hurt. "No concussion."

"No concussion," he repeated, pulling her close. "Good. That's good."

"As much as I'm enjoying this tender moment," Julie spoke up, "Ainsley, would you please tell Agent Know-It-All that you're going home with me for the night? Maybe even for a few nights?"

Ainsley bit her lip and pulled away from Rossi. "Would you give us a minute?" she asked Julie. "Please?"

Julie nodded and winked. "Sure. I'll see if I can find your doctor, get him to let you out of here."

Once she was out of earshot, Ainsley said, "I told Mac _and_ Julie that I'd be fine at the hotel, that I'd have you just down the hall, but they wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else."

Rossi stared into her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "If you were going back to the hotel tonight, I can guarantee you that you wouldn't be staying alone."

She felt herself blush. "I'm sorry for walking out on you at Carmine's. You were only trying to help."

"No, no, no." He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her again. "I could see you were upset but I kept going."

"You already apologized for that," she whispered, "and I accepted. It's my turn to say I'm sorry to you."

He rubbed her back gently. "How about we call it a draw?"

"Wipe the slate clean?"

"Yeah. Start fresh."

"Sounds good to me...Dave," she said, giving him a smile.

XXXXX

When they arrived at Julie's apartment, Julie called for take-out while Ainsley took a hot shower. By the time they finished eating; they'd each had a large tumbler of Scotch and were on their second.

"This is really good Scotch," Ainsley said as she looked at the label, then added, "good _old_ Scotch...good _expensive_ Scotch."

"Yeah," Julie nodded. "Dave gave it to me. He's a real connoisseur."

"Really?"

"Funny coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"Why?"

Julie grinned. "Come on, Ainsley. You know what I mean."

"That we both like Scotch?"

"That you both like Scotch...and you obviously like each other."

Ainsley shook her head dismissively and looked away.

"I caught that whole bit at the hospital...he's got it bad for you," Julie went on. "Don't tell me you didn't know that."

"I guess I did," Ainsley admitted, thinking back to their dinner at Carmine's, the way his eyes held hers, the way he'd listened so intently, how good she felt when he'd taken her in his arms earlier at the hospital.

"You could do worse. He's a good guy."

"If' he's such a good guy, why isn't he taken? Or is he?"

Julie held up her hand. "Okay, here's the Cliff Notes on Dave Rossi. You know about him being a Fed and starting the Behavioral Analysis Unit...you know about the best-sellers...but what you probably don't know is that he has been married three times."

Ainsley's eyes grew wide. "Three times?"

"Yeah. Wife number one didn't understand what it was like to be married to an FBI agent. Wife number two...well, I think they're still friends. And wife number three? Can you say gold digger?"

"So he's sworn off relationships?"

"That's the strangest part," Julie replied, smiling again. "He still believes in relationships, still believes that the fourth and final Mrs. Rossi is out there waiting for him – he just has to find her."

Ainsley nodded. "He's an optimist – not to mention a lady killer."

"He's a romantic," Julie laughed.

"And you're his biggest fan."

"You have to admit, he's got a lot to offer."

"Well, then, why haven't you gone for him?"

"I've known him so long," she said as she took another drink of Scotch, "I just don't think of him that way."

Ainsley watched as Julie's demeanor changed. Julie was trying to play it cool, but inside, she was squirming. It was as plain as the nose on her face. Deciding to press for more info, Ainsley asked casually, "How did you meet Dave, anyway?"

"Through Mac. They've been friends for years. Once, when Dave was in New York, Mac invited me to dinner with them."

"And what about Mac?" Ainsley asked, watching as color came to Julie's cheeks. Oh yes, there was definitely more than just friendship there.

"What about him?"

"You seem to know each other very well."

Julie didn't bite. "We've worked together a lot over the years, hit it off as friends. He's been through hell."

"He lost his wife on September 11, didn't he?"

Julie's expression grew sad. "She worked in the North Tower."

"I heard the news through a mutual friend, and I didn't see Mac for a long time after. I was worried about him."

"He was a mess...but he's come a long way," Julie answered, looking happier.

"Would that be thanks to you?"

Julie twisted her hands in her lap. She wasn't used to girl talk, especially about her love life. "We're close," she settled for saying.

"How close?" Ainsley asked, eyes twinkling devilishly. "Close enough to be...involved?"

Julie opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped.

Ainsley smiled. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"We're trying to keep it quiet...."

"You're doing a good job."

"Not so good if you figured it out," she retorted. "No offense."

Ainsley finished her Scotch. "None taken."

"I mean, it's not that I'm ashamed of him or anything..."

"I didn't think you would be – Mac Taylor is one of the smartest, kindest, most driven men I've ever met." She fixed Julie with a grin. "And he's damn fine too."

Julie laughed out loud. "Oh, honey...you should see him naked!"

XXXXX

Once she was sure that Ainsley was asleep, Julie slipped into the living room and made up the sofa for herself. She knew she should really settle down for the night, but she wasn't ready. She picked up the cordless phone and walked out onto the balcony. Pulling the door shut behind her, she hit speed dial and listened as the phone rang twice before Mac answered.

"Julie?"

"Hey," she said quietly, settling herself in one of the two wrought iron chairs.

"How's Ainsley?"

"I got her to take another Percocet and she crashed."

"Good," he chuckled. "But tell me about yourself...how are you?"

"Okay," she lied.

He wasn't convinced. "Julie..."

"Mac, honestly...I'm okay."

"If you were a better liar, I'd believe it."

Julie sighed, an action she wasn't accustomed to. "I know what you're going to say, but damn it, Mac, if I hadn't gotten stuck in traffic...."

"Don't do this to yourself. There was nothing you could've done to prevent what happened to Ainsley."

"No? I could've gotten there sooner, I could have stopped it!"

She could imagine Mac counting to ten before he said calmly, "He could have attacked you both."

"Please – Hansen against me and Ainsley? Spare me, Mac."

"And if he had a weapon?"

"Don't do this."

"You're the one who wanted to play 'what if.'"

"Okay, fine, you're right – but don't tell me that if you were me, you wouldn't feel guilty."

"I probably would," he allowed, "but by showing up when you did, you stopped her attacker before he could do serious harm to her."

"Thank God."

"Why don't I come over?"

"I'm okay."

"You're not."

"Okay, I'm not, but if you come over..."

"What? Ainsley will figure out that we're dating? Julie, it doesn't matter."

"It does, Mac, it does. And please, can we not have this conversation again tonight? Just know that I do love you and I do wish you were here with me."

"Then let me come over," he tried again.

"You have no idea how tempting it is to say yes," she replied honestly.

"I'll stop pushing. But if you change your mind, just call me and I'll be there."

Julie knew she must be tired, because she felt an urge to cry, and as always, he picked up on it. Even when they were "just friends" she'd discovered that he was good at that.

"If you start to cry, I'm coming, no matter what you say."

"I'm not going to cry," she laughed. "I almost was, but thanks to you, I'm not."

"When this case is over," he said, his voice low, "I'm taking you back out to Montauk."

Julie smiled at the memory of the weekend they spent at the beach early in the summer. It had been quiet, relaxed, sexy, and fun. She could use a weekend like that again.

"I can hear you smiling," Mack chuckled.

"Yeah, I am...think we can get that same place? With that amazing balcony?"

"If I have my way, we will."

Grateful that he'd pulled her mind towards more pleasant things, she went with it, knowing full well, once she hung up, she'd go back to feeling guilty and remorseful. "So you liked being out on that balcony at sunrise, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, and sunset... I'm not sure which I liked better."

"We'll have to do a comparison," she mused, then added seriously, "Thank you...for talking me down. I think I'm okay now."

"And I've known you way too long to believe that," he said gently. "Since you won't let me come over, I'm going to have to stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep."

"I love you."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do," she yawned. "And I don't think you'll have to talk long. I can feel myself getting sleepy."

"Just to be safe, let's keep talking..."

"Okay," she said, leaning back into the chair. "Talk to me about our weekend in Montauk..."


	9. Act 9

XXXXX

When Ainsley woke up at six the next morning, she wasn't sure she knew where she was. As she stretched gingerly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the previous day came back to her – the attack, spending the better part of the afternoon and early evening under observation at Bellevue, going back to Julie's...and drinking two glasses of Scotch and taking a Percocet. She hadn't wanted to take it, she remembered, but she knew she wouldn't sleep without it.

"Morning, sunshine," Julie greeted Ainsley as she walked into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please," she mumbled. "My head is in a fog. Shouldn't have had the Scotch last night."

Julie chuckled as she poured Ainsley's coffee. "How do you feel? Other than foggy?"

"I've felt better."

"Bad, huh?"

"Worse than bad. Like I got hit by a truck. I think it's more a result of stress and anxiety than of the attack, though."

"Could be. You'll feel better after breakfast. I ran out and got fresh bagels and cream cheese and lox."

"Julie! You didn't have to do that!"

"I know," she replied easily, "but I wanted to – sometimes I do it for Mac when he's stressed or facing a long day."

Ainsley smiled at her. "Thanks. You're not so bad."

"You're not either," Julie returned.

"Seriously," Ainsley said as she prepared her bagel, "I really appreciate your opening your home to me last night...especially when you could've had Mac here instead."

Julie shrugged. "He can manage on his own for one night. I thought we might have him and Rossi over for dinner. What should I make? Lasagna?"

"Actually, I was thinking I'd go back to the hotel tonight. I'm fine, really, and I don't want to put you out...."

Julie shot her a look. "Okay, first, you are not fine, second, you are not putting me out, and third, you shouldn't be alone."

"Why?" Ainsley sighed heavily. "I can take care of myself!"

"I know you can, but what if Rossi was right, and our perp decides he isn't finished with you? I don't have to tell you what psychos are like, what they can do when they set their mind to it."

"But Dave will be next door, and if I need him, I'll pick up the phone or call – or scream."

"Don't even joke, Ainsley," Julie replied firmly. "Yes, he would be there in a second, break the door down if he had to, but why not avoid the possibility entirely?"

Ainsley stood and carried her plate and cup to the sink. "Because I'm not giving in, damn it! I'll see him in hell before I do!"

"I'm not saying you'd be giving in." Julie followed Ainsley to the sink and laid a hand on her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf. "I'm just saying that it wouldn't do anyone any good if something bad happened to you."

"I appreciate your concern, I really and truly do, but I can't live in fear."

"Your mind is made up, isn't it?"

"Yes," Ainsley replied with a nod. "It is. Like I said, I'll be fine, and Dave will be just a few steps away...if I need him, I'll just yell."

XXXXX

"I'm so frustrated I could scream," Ainsley muttered as she and Rossi left the crime lab. "I thought for sure we'd get the DNA results from yesterday back today."

"I did too," he replied. "I'm not downing Mac or his CSIs, but you've seen their backlog."

She nodded. "Oh, well...let's hope we get them tomorrow. And the sooner I get to bed and go to sleep; the sooner tomorrow will be here. Maybe the couple that was next door to me night before last will have checked out...."

Rossi shot her a glance; he'd been wondering how he'd tell her that their accommodations had changed. "You don't need to worry about that," he said quickly.

"Oh. They left?"

"No. I got us a double."

She stopped abruptly. "You what?"

"You heard me," he replied from a few steps ahead. "I got us a double."

"A double room?"

"Yes. As in a sitting room, a bathroom and a bedroom with two beds. You should've known that I wouldn't let you stay alone, not after what happened yesterday."

"I told Mac, I told Julie, _and_ I told you...I'm fine by myself," she ground out as she walked toward him. "I'm not helpless!"

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. "No, you're not, and no one is saying that you are...just humor us, okay? If we're as close to nabbing Hansen as we think we are, it'll be for just a few nights, if that."

As she cursed him for being so take-charge, so matter-of-fact and so damned handsome, she cursed herself for giving even a moment's thought to the conflicting feelings he aroused in her – feelings she had no business having, at least not now. Without realizing it, she licked her lips and nodded.

"May I take that as a yes?" Rossi asked seriously, his hands still on her shoulders, his eyes still boring into hers. It was no use. She knew it.

"Yes, you may take that as a yes," Ainsley replied with a small smile as they started walking again. "I'm too tired but too keyed-up to argue with you. I just want to wash my face, brush my teeth, put on my jammies and go to bed."

"Julie has authorized me to force you to take a Percocet, if you need it. She said you slept like the dead last night."

"Yeah," Ainsley snorted. "And I felt like the dead when I woke up. Try it, Rossi, and you'd better have back-up."

XXXXX

"Damn," Ainsley murmured as she entered their deluxe suite ahead of Rossi. "This is nice, but you didn't have to go to the trouble."

"No trouble," he assured her. "Why don't you go take a shower, wash the day away, while I order room service?"

She turned and gave him a bright smile. "That sounds like an excellent idea. I'm not picky – order whatever you're having for me."

Room service ordered, Rossi turned on ESPN, hoping he'd find a baseball game to take his mind off the beautiful, intelligent, driven woman showering just a few steps away. Try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Sure, they were working together, but they wouldn't be for much longer, and he'd already made up his mind that he wanted to get to know her better, not as colleagues get to know each other, but as a man and woman get to know each other. He wanted like hell to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless when she came out of the bathroom wearing a modest cotton nightgown, her long, blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

She ate like she was starved, which he supposed she was – he'd noticed that she skipped lunch – but he could see her eyes growing heavy as they ate. He wanted her to stay up with him, just talking, but he knew she needed her rest.

"Why don't you turn in?"

"I think I will," she replied, yawning. "We've got an early morning tomorrow."

"You're not going to come knocking on my door before six, are you?" he teased.

"No," she laughed, slapping his chest playfully. "I'll wait till 6:05."

XXXXX

Ainsley was in Kathryn's apartment. She walked slowly, quietly down the hall, following the sounds of Kathryn's cries. She saw Hansen pinning her sister to the floor, saw and heard her struggling against her killer.

She pulled her gun and stepped into the bedroom.

"Don't do it, Hansen," she said, her voice tight. "Don't do it...so help me, God, you fucking bastard, I'll kill you!"

Hansen looked up, his eyes wild, but Ainsley was focused on Kathryn, who tried desperately to loosen the nylons around her neck and gasped for air. "Ainsley, please...help me...please!"

He looked back and forth between the two, smirking, then stared at Ainsley. "You wouldn't."

She felt her finger on the trigger and hot tears stinging her eyes. "You want to bet?"

The gun went off with a bang, the force of it sending her backwards. As she hit the wall, she sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily. "Kathryn!" she cried. "Kathryn! Please be okay, please...please be okay!"

It was only when Rossi burst into her room and knelt beside her bed that she realized it had been a dream, a terrible nightmare – the worst she'd had.

"Ainsley," he said firmly, as he slipped his hands under her back and pulled her into a warm, comforting embrace. "Ainsley, Bella, wake up...it's just a dream...come on...wake up...."

She shook her head and opened her eyes slowly. "David?"

"I'm here," he soothed. "It's okay. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Oh, thank God you're here. What happened?" she asked groggily.

"You had a nightmare – a bad one, judging from the way you were carrying on. Want to talk about it?"

She rested her head on his shoulder and fought to control her breathing. "Hansen. He was holding Kathryn down, strangling her, but I caught him...I pulled my gun...I pulled the trigger. I was so scared!"

He simply held her, hated seeing her like this. It made him want to kill Hansen with his bare hands so she wouldn't have to dirty hers.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered.

"For what?" he asked, wiping the tears from her face.

"For disturbing you."

He sighed as he buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair and ran his hands up and down her back. He hadn't been sleeping, but he didn't have to tell her that. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad I was here. God, Ainsley, I didn't know what was going on when I heard you."

She smiled hesitantly as she pulled away and looked up at him. "Maybe I should've taken the Percocet," she added, trying to laugh, but failing.

"Do you want me to get you one?"

"No – I can't have cobwebs in my head when we get back to the lab. But..."

"But what?"

"Would you stay with me?" she asked in a rush, as if she knew she should ask before she lost her courage. "I don't want to be alone."

As he slipped into bed beside her, he just hoped his mind could keep his body in check.

XXXXX

Before she even opened her eyes, Ainsley knew there was something different about this morning. Before she decided she felt too good to care, a warm body shifted against her and pulled her closer. She wasn't alone. _That_ was what was different.

Still half asleep, she heard herself moan softly as a pair of rough yet gentle hands rubbed her back, from her neck to her derrière. As those hands made the return trip, the night before came rushing back to her.

She'd had a nightmare. Rossi had come to wake her up. She'd asked him to stay with her. In her bed.

"Oh God," she whispered. "What did I do? What did we do?"

"Nothing – yet," he answered, startling her.

"David!" she gasped, her heart in her throat as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I-I didn't know you were awake."

"Only for about twenty minutes."

She rolled over and looked at the clock. "It's almost six! Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were sleeping so soundly I hated to. You didn't have the best night, if you remember."

"I do remember," she murmured as she sat up and threw back the covers, trying not to look at him with his shirt off. "I'm sorry. Really."

He sat up too and placed a warm hand on her arm. "I told you last night, you have nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing. Do you have nightmares often?"

"I wouldn't say often...just when I've been thinking about Kathryn. Every time, she begs me to help her, but I wake up when I pull the trigger...I never know if she makes it...."

Her shoulders sagged and he wrapped her in his arms. "God, Ainsley...I'm sorry. So sorry."

She let herself relax against him. He felt so good, smelled so good...it was tempting to lie back down for just a few minutes. Giving herself a mental shake, she said, "But you're helping, and I appreciate it more than you know. I've been a basket-case these past few days...I'm normally not like this."

"It's okay." He gave her a final squeeze before she got to her feet.

She rummaged around in her suitcase for fresh clothes, still purposely avoiding looking at him, and he had to smile to himself. "I'll make it quick in the bathroom, I promise."

"Take your time," he replied easily. "I'll need ten minutes, fifteen tops, after you're done. We'll pick up breakfast on the way to the lab."


	10. Act 10

XXXXX

Mac and Ainsley were sitting down to a late lunch in Mac's office when Danny barged in.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, excited, "but I don't think you'll mind when you hear what I have to say."

"What's up, Danny?" Ainsley asked. Mac had just taken the first bite of his sandwich.

"We got the DNA results from your attack, Dr. A, and we got a match. It _was_ Hansen."

She slammed her hand down on Mac's desk, nearly knocking over her soda. "I _knew_ it! I could _feel_ it! Mac, please tell me this is enough for us to make an arrest."

He nodded as he got to his feet. "It's enough for us to make an arrest on an assault charge, and I'm betting that if we press him enough, he'll start talking."

Ainsley closed her eyes for a brief second. This was it. The moment she had been waiting so long for. "Shall I call Julie and Rossi; ask them to meet us at Hansen's apartment?"

"There's no time," Danny spoke up. "The uniform you put on Hansen just reported that he left his apartment and seems to be heading toward the theater."

"He has another audition," Mac said seriously, slowly.

Danny nodded and Ainsley cursed. "We've got to get over there," she shouted to Danny and Mac, who were close behind, "_now_."

XXXXX

"How do you want to do this?" Danny asked as Mac drove them to the theater, lights on and sirens blaring.

"Our priority is getting whoever may be at the theater with Hansen out safely before we take him down. If we can do that, we'll be in a much better position to make our move."

"And what do you want me to do?" Ainsley asked. She looked calm, but Mac knew she was anything but. He could see her pulse pounding in her neck and noticed that her breathing was shallow.

"Stay behind me until we see what we've got," he answered grimly. "I will not put you in harm's way. Your parents have already lost one daughter to Hansen...I can't look them in the eye and tell them they've lost another."

She nodded and her voice was soft as she glanced at him. "But if you have to?"

Mac sighed. He didn't want Ainsley in a face-off with Hansen, with or without backup, but if she could play a part in this bust, he'd turn her loose. "I will if I have to."

"Good," she replied coolly. "I'll be ready."

XXXXX

Mac parked the Avalanche in the small lot near the theater. From the backseat Danny handed him two bullet-proof vests. He gave one to Ainsley.

"Mac…" she protested.

"You wear it or you wait here," he commanded, slipping his vest over his head. "Are you coming?"

Without a word, she donned the vest and fastened the Velcro, then followed Mac and Danny out of the car.

Danny went around to the front of the theater, and after pulling his weapon, Mac slowly opened the back door. "Stay on my six," he said quietly. "No heroics."

Ainsley nodded and followed him into the theater. They walked through the wings and saw a young blonde woman sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the stage, practicing scales. Hansen must've told her he was staging a musical.

Mac whispered just loudly enough to get her attention. She opened her mouth to speak, but he warned her off.

"Cover me," he said to Ainsley, then made his way to the blonde. "Stay very quiet," he said, kneeling next to her. "I'm Detective Mac Taylor with the NYPD. I need you to listen to me and do what I say, okay?"

She nodded.

"Where's Hansen?"

"He went to his office to get my script, said he'd be back in 10 minutes, tops, but that was five minutes ago. What's going on?"

"I'll explain later, but right now, I need to get you out of here. As quietly as possible, I want you to run to the door and out into the alley. There will be uniformed officers waiting for you. Stay with them, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she stammered, the seriousness of the situation kicking in.

"Okay, when I say go, you take off, run for that door and do not stop until you are safe with the uniformed officers," he repeated, just to make sure she knew what she was supposed to do. "Go…"

As soon as she was out, Mac motioned to Ainsley to join him on stage.

"He had another victim already!" she hissed, color flaring in her cheeks.

"Stay with me, Ainsley," he said calmly. "He went to get her script…"

"More likely his kill kit…"

"And he's going to expect to see her when he returns. An empty chair may spook him."

Ainsley nodded, knowing what she needed to do. "I'll sit here."

"I'll be in the wings…as soon as he approaches you, I'll be there," he promised.

She nodded, closing her eyes to dispel the fear building in her chest. Feeling his hand on hers, she opened her eyes to find his reassuring smile, then nodded again. "Let's do this."

The three minutes she waited for Hansen were the longest of her life. Finally she heard his voice behind her. "Okay, Shannon, I've got your script."

She heard his footsteps get closer, then, "I can see the knots in your shoulders – don't be nervous."

It took every ounce of control she had, but she remained still, even when he placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them.

"Just relax," he soothed. "You'll do fine with the reading…"

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to her hair and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her skin crawled and her stomach churned and just when she thought she could take no more, she heard the sound of a safety being removed from a gun, followed my Mac's tight, clipped voice.

"It's over, Hansen," he said. "Take your hands from her neck."

Hansen looked at Mac, surprised. "I don't know what you think you're doing; Detective Taylor," Hansen said, "but Shannon and I were just running a scene."

"Take your hands from her neck, Hansen," he repeated, and to Ainsley's relief, he did.

"Shannon, tell him!" Hansen said, alarm tingeing his voice.

"I'm not Shannon, you bastard," Ainsley spat, standing up and holding her gun trained on Hansen.

"You!" He glared at her, then looked at Mac again. "Detective Taylor, this woman has some sort of vendetta against me…you can't possibly believe her."

"I believe the evidence, Hansen," Mac returned, slapping handcuffs on him. "It never lies."

"What evidence?" he asked, as Mac roughly escorted him from the building.

"DNA," Ainsley replied triumphantly, with a satisfied smile. "From under my fingernails. It matched the other victims…" She leaned in close to Hansen. "I've got you, you bastard, and you'll never hurt anyone again, just to make your own sad, sorry self feel good."

Hansen shook his head and shot Ainsley a hateful look. "If only you'd waited...you would've been my next star...you could've had your chance to be famous...."

XXXXX

Rossi was sitting in the conference room that had been set up as a command center for the case, looking at the whiteboard covered with all sorts of notes in various handwritings, when Julie came in.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said. Noticing that her expression was a cross between irked and worried, his smile faded. "What's wrong?"

He could see that she was conflicted between keeping whatever was wrong to herself and unloading on him. "Nothing, Dave," she sighed as she sat down in the chair next to his. "Nothing at all."

"Do you forget what I do for a living?" he asked gently, watching as her expression softened.

"Sometimes, I do," she allowed. "I'm just concerned."

"Concerned? About?"

"Mac and Ainsley," she went on, drawing his curiosity.

"What about them?"

"I know they want to get Hansen, we all do, but I think they're…well, obsessed."

"In what way?" He'd seen it as well, but wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Mac didn't leave the office last night," she explained. "I stopped by to get him to take a break, go get a cup of coffee, just walk away from it for a bit…and he just blew me off."

Rossi nodded.

"And he knows, as well as we do, that if you spend too much time looking at something, you don't see it clearly…that you need distance."

"You've got to clear your head," he agreed, "and come back fresh."

"Exactly. He does this from time to time, but I've never seen him so into a case. I'm just worried that maybe they're too close. Mac has been after Hansen for years, and my God, he probably killed Ainsley's sister."

Rossi nodded again. "I've noticed it too. Unfortunately, I don't think anything we say or do is going to get them to back down. And I can't tell you that, in their position, I wouldn't be the same way."

"Oh, I know – I'd want to see the son of a bitch fry. But I also know that if the situation was reversed, Mac would be the one trying to get me to keep my perspective."

"He would, but it goes back to the situation being what it is, and the fact that he and Ainsley have too much time and energy and emotion invested."

"You're right – I know you're right – but still, it's hard. I want to be there for Mac, to help him, but he makes it so difficult. I'm sure Ainsley is no better," she added, casting a quick glance at Rossi.

"No, she isn't," he answered quickly. "But I hope that when this case is closed, she can focus on herself, her own happiness."

"You wouldn't mind being a part of that happiness, would you?"

Rossi smiled. "No, I wouldn't."

"It's as plain as the nose on your face that you're interested," Julie snickered. "You should go after her."

"She'd never take me seriously."

"Why do you say that?"

Rossi gave Julie a look. "Her first impression of me wasn't the greatest – you called me 'the FBI's most accomplished Lothario', remember?"

"Ah, yes, I did, didn't I?" She frowned. "She's not the type of woman to go for that sort of man, is she?"

"No, she isn't."

"Well, what about that scene I witnessed at the hospital?"

"She'd just been attacked! She needed a hug!"

Julie stopped herself from confessing to Rossi that she had given Ainsley a run-down on him. She wasn't one to divulge conversations she felt were private, and, even if she was, she knew Ainsley wouldn't appreciate her sharing.

"Take it from me, Lothario," Julie said seriously, but with a grin, "keep after her...but I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't come to you first."

"What do you mean?" he pressed, looking confused.

Before Julie could answer, her Blackberry beeped. "It's Danny," she murmured, glancing at the screen. Suddenly she stood up and slammed her hand on the table. "Damn them! They made the bust without us!"


	11. Act 11

XXXXX

The rain fell in sheets as Mac drove Ainsley and Rossi to their hotel. Ainsley sat in the front, not speaking, just staring straight ahead, and Rossi was worried. The case was closed, but her healing was only beginning. When he and Julie arrived at the theater, minutes after the bust, he'd barged in, looking for her. He didn't give a damn about Hansen. He just wanted to find her, see her for himself.

He spotted her talking to a uniformed officer, giving her statement, he surmised, but he went to her anyway. "Ainsley!"

She turned and for a moment looked like she might break down, then launched herself into his arms.

"Are you okay?" he had asked, smoothing her hair.

She had simply nodded and said quietly, "It's over. I'll be fine."

Mac slowed the Chevy Avalanche to a stop and looked at Ainsley, then at Rossi. "I'll see you two tomorrow morning, right? About ten?"

Rossi nodded. "We'll meet you at the diner on the corner." He got out of the backseat and opened the passenger door for Ainsley. "Come on...let's get you upstairs."

She allowed him get her in out of the rain and lead her to their room. He locked the door behind them and helped her out of her jacket. She sat down on the couch and sighed heavily.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as he knelt in front of her.

"You've done enough already," she replied, her voice shaky, "but if you'd just hold me...."

He sat down beside her and pulled her close. She didn't cry, as he'd expected she might, but she clutched his shirt and buried her face in his neck. He ran his hands up and down her back, and when pressed a kiss to her temple, she pulled away. Before he could curse himself for putting a move on her when she was at her most vulnerable, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.

Later he would tell her he saw stars, and she would laugh at him, but it was the truth. He was powerless to stop his physical response to her kisses, and as they became more insistent, she worked at unbuttoning his shirt, and he cupped her breasts through the soft material of her sweater. God, this was better than he'd imagined, and despite the case, he'd found time to imagine. Sliding his tongue into the warm, wet depths of her mouth caused him to think about sliding another part of his body into her other warm, wet depths.

But it was when she pushed him back and climbed on top of him that he reminded himself of who he was with and the situation they were in. "Ainsley?"

"Yes?" she whispered, nipping at his neck.

"Should we be doing this?"

"Why do you ask? Don't you want me?"

"God, yes, I want you," he assured her, "but you've been through so much these past few days... I don't want you to regret this in the morning."

She sat up and looked at him. "I realize this may be a one-night stand or a pity fuck to you, but damn it, I don't care... I need to feel something.... Please, David...."

He smiled briefly and shook his head. "I don't know what Mac and Julie might've told you about me, but let me tell you this – I've known a lot of women, but never one like you. And if I make love to you, it won't be because I pity you, and I'll want to do it again...and again...and again...."

"We've got all night."

"I don't mean just tonight," he clarified, framing her face in his hands as he stared into her passion-darkened eyes. "I want you in my life. Once I have you, Ainsley, I won't be able to let you go. Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, as if to prove that she was indeed serious. "I am."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes!"_ She glanced away and took a deep breath. "I've felt so guilty, _so damn guilty_, for wanting you like I have, for thinking about my own needs and wants while we've been working this case...but now it's over, and I want you...I-I need you...I need to feel alive again."

He couldn't deny her, not when she was so serious, not when he wanted and needed her too. "Oh, Bella," he murmured, caressing her cheek, "I'll gladly make you feel alive again."

With that, he got to his feet, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, carried her to his bed.

Their clothes came off quickly, and when they were finally skin-on-skin, he told himself to take his time, to make it good for her. This wasn't just any woman; this was Ainsley.

"Tell me if I do anything you don't like, okay?"

She nodded and clutched at the sheet as he kissed her roughly one last time, then nibbled and licked his way down to her neck and shoulders. The feel of his whiskers on her sensitive skin was almost more than she could take, and she gasped when he finally took one pink nipple into his mouth and brushed circles around the other with his thumb. "Don't stop!"

"I won't, Bella, not unless you ask me to."

"Not going to...it feels too good."

He smiled against her breast. "If that feels good, then...how about I go lower?"

"Please!"

He didn't need to be told twice. As he spread her legs, he glanced up at her and saw her eyes on him. "You want to watch?"

She nodded shyly, biting her lip. "Yes."

That Southern accent nearly drove him over the edge, and they were only getting started. "So sweet," he said, as his tongue located her center and began flicking it teasingly. "Just like honey."

She let him pleasure her until she felt herself approaching the edge, then rolled them over so that she was on top again. Her head fell back and her breath came in gasps as he touched her breasts. "Oh, fuck, David...I think I could come just from this."

"And I think I could come just from watching you, hearing you talk like that. Don't hold back...do whatever feels right, whatever you want."

His erection felt like warm velvet over solid steel in her hand, and when she replaced her hand with her mouth and dug her nails into his hips, his back arched up off the bed. The feel of her lips and tongue and teeth sliding over him was more than he could take. Her soft moans didn't help, either.

"Damn, Ainsley," he panted. "I don't think I can wait...please tell me you're ready..."

"I think you know the answer to that..."

He settled her against the pillows and entered her slowly, so he wouldn't hurt her, and finally pushed all the way in. Breathing heavily now, she matched him thrust for thrust, and as he felt himself tightening up, a sure sign that he was to the point of no return, he leaned down and kissed her passionately.

She was lost in his kiss, the feel of him pumping in and out of her, and when her muscles clenched around him, he was a goner. "Oh, God," he groaned, wanting her to hear him cry out her name as he shuddered violently and emptied himself inside her, "Ainsley..."

When there was nothing left, he collapsed, half on, half off of her trembling body and wrapped her in his arms. "How do you feel now, Bella?" he asked softly.

"Very much alive," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, David...I needed that."

"So did I."

They lay in silence, their legs tangled together in the sheets, her head on his chest, his fingers combing through her hair. Just when he thought she might've fallen asleep, he felt the first tear.

"Ainsley? Ainsley, are you okay?"

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "Better than okay."

"Then why are you crying?" He tipped her chin up with his finger. "What's the matter?"

"For the first time since Kathryn died, I feel at peace...warm...safe...."

"You are," he whispered. "Just let it out...."

XXXXX

Hearing the door to the morgue open, Sid Hammerback looked up from the body on the table in front of him and saw Julie Brennan enter.

"Detective Brennan," he greeted her with a jovial smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She nodded at the bloated body. "That's my floater. Thought I'd come down and see what you've found."

"Well, I'm just closing him up, and the only fact I can swear to at the moment is that his last meal was buffalo wings and pepperoni pizza chased down by a couple of beers."

"A real health food fanatic, huh?"

"If you want to stick around, I should have more details for you shortly," he offered.

She shrugged. "Sure – I've got nowhere else to go right now."

As Sid stitched the body up, he said conversationally, "I hear Mac and Dr. Hamilton picked up Hansen today."

"They did," Julie replied, her clipped tone telling him exactly how she felt about being left out of the bust. "Case closed – now I can move on to this lovely fellow."

As Sid opened his mouth to respond, Mac walked into the morgue.

"Hey, Sid, Julie."

"Mac," the medical examiner nodded, then, with a smile, added, "Nice collar today."

"I'm just glad it's over," Mac demurred, catching Julie's expression out of the corner of his eye. She was _not_ pleased.

"What can I do for you?" Sid asked, picking up the palpable tension between Mac and Julie, and eager to avoid it.

"I need the tox report on Anna Rogers."

"Give me one second and I'll get it," he said, pulling off his rubber gloves. "Be right back."

Sid walked away, leaving Mac and Julie alone, standing on either side of the corpse on Sid's table.

"Julie," Mac began, knowing that this was the wrong time and the wrong place to do this, but wanting to calm her down before she got really worked up.

"That was my bust, Mac," she seethed, her voice barley a whisper.

"We had to move or we'd lose him...."

"Bullshit! I called you back in two minutes. Two fucking minutes, Mac. Hansen was totally unaware that you knew where he was. You could have waited for me and Rossi."

"I didn't hear the phone when you called back."

"Or did you just ignore it?" she snapped. "It's really funny that you and Ainsley were the two who made this bust…"

"Julie…"

"You two went alone and didn't call for more back up…when Dave, Donnie and I were all within five minutes of the scene and could have met you there…"

"We found him and didn't want to lose him," he tried again, though he knew the argument wasn't swaying her.

"You two wanted Hansen so bad you could taste it…and cut the rest of us out."

"Now wait just a damn minute – we did not!"

"Didn't you? You did exactly what you always yell at me for. You let your emotion lead you."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. She was right, he and Ainsley did go off in a rush, but she would never recognize the circumstances.

"Want to know the worst part?" she went on, her sarcastic smile telling him she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Once again, you dropped me for the cute chick with the accent."

"This had nothing to do with you and me, Julie," he shot back angrily.

"It has everything to do with us," she countered. "You went off half-cocked and could've gotten killed. And yes, I am royally pissed that you stole my bust. I worked just as hard on this case as everyone else, except I'm not an expert; I'm just a cop – a cop who probably could have handled herself much better than the expert who was out there with you today."

"Ainsley was great today – say what you will, but I won't let you take that away from her."

Julie pretended not to hear him. "So you run off with a professor covering your back," she went on, shaking her head. "Remind me next time I make a collar to stop by NYU for back-up first."

"This is getting out of hand," he said sternly.

"This whole situation got out of hand and you took it there," she retorted, walking around the table towards the door.

He stuck his hand out and grabbed her arm. She'd pushed him to his breaking point. "Do not walk away from me."

"Get your hand off of me."

He didn't budge. "You're not walking out of this room until you calm down."

"You need to let me go…now."

"You need to calm down and listen to me."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she challenged, her eyes flashing, color rising in her cheeks, her breasts rising and falling with her shallow breathing.

As pissed off as he was, he also realized that her passion was the very thing that made him fall in love with her in the first place. And love her he did, more than he thought he was capable of after losing Claire.

"Are you going to let me go?" she asked again, her anger easing.

He didn't answer, didn't let himself think, and for the second time that day, gave into his emotions. Pulling her close, he kissed her hard and full on her mouth.

XXXXX

Stunned, Julie took a moment to react. She wanted to push him away, to shut him out, but she couldn't. It was as if her body had its own agenda causing her to return his kiss.

He let go of her arms and embraced her, one kiss turning to another and then another as they lost themselves in the moment.

Julie's head cleared fist and she pulled back. "Shit, Mac…we're in the morgue."

"I know," he replied, not letting go. "We let our emotions get the best of us, didn't we?"

"Hell yeah, we did," she sighed as they parted. "That's the first time this has happened at work."

"It is," he agreed thoughtfully, confusing Julie with his calmness.

For her part, she was anything but calm. "This wasn't good, Mac," she stammered, pacing back and forth. "We just blew up at each other and then made out in the morgue. This…us…" she ran her hands through her hair, and then looked at him plaintively. "We've crossed a line."

"Marry me, Julie."

She did a double take. "What?"

"I said;" he repeated carefully, "marry me."

She shook her head. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"I did," he nodded.

"You just proposed to me," she laughed, "in the middle of an argument…in the morgue…two feet from a floater we just pulled from the Hudson."

Mac laughed with her. "I did, didn't I?"

"I love it!" she said, laughing harder, louder. "It's so perfect. So _us_."

"Are you going to give me an answer?" he pressed, taking her into his arms again.

"Yes, Mac...my answer is yes," she responded. "After such a proposal? How could I say no?"

"I'm serious, Julie," His tone was firm and sure. "I love you."

"I'm serious too, Mac," she returned, fixing his collar.

At that moment, Sid walked back into the morgue and cleared his throat loudly.

"How much of that did you hear?" Mac wanted to know, not releasing Julie.

Sid gave a sheepish smile. "I heard the last few minutes…voices carry."

"Its okay, Sid," Julie laughed, slipping out of Mac's arms. "You knew about us anyway."

"He did?" Mac asked, clearly surprised.

"I'm afraid I did," Sid confessed, giving Julie a hug. "Congratulations." He broke off the hug and held out his hand to Mac. "You've made a fine choice."

"I believe I have," he smiled, shaking Sid's hand, but looking only at Julie.


	12. Act 11

XXXXX

The rain fell in sheets as Mac drove Ainsley and Rossi to their hotel. Ainsley sat in the front, not speaking, just staring straight ahead, and Rossi was worried. The case was closed, but her healing was only beginning. When he and Julie arrived at the theater, minutes after the bust, he'd barged in, looking for her. He didn't give a damn about Hansen. He just wanted to find her, see her for himself.

He spotted her talking to a uniformed officer, giving her statement, he surmised, but he went to her anyway. "Ainsley!"

She turned and for a moment looked like she might break down, then launched herself into his arms.

"Are you okay?" he had asked, smoothing her hair.

She had simply nodded and said quietly, "It's over. I'll be fine."

Mac slowed the Chevy Avalanche to a stop and looked at Ainsley, then at Rossi. "I'll see you two tomorrow morning, right? About ten?"

Rossi nodded. "We'll meet you at the diner on the corner." He got out of the backseat and opened the passenger door for Ainsley. "Come on...let's get you upstairs."

She allowed him get her in out of the rain and lead her to their room. He locked the door behind them and helped her out of her jacket. She sat down on the couch and sighed heavily.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as he knelt in front of her.

"You've done enough already," she replied, her voice shaky, "but if you'd just hold me...."

He sat down beside her and pulled her close. She didn't cry, as he'd expected she might, but she clutched his shirt and buried her face in his neck. He ran his hands up and down her back, and when pressed a kiss to her temple, she pulled away. Before he could curse himself for putting a move on her when she was at her most vulnerable, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.

Later he would tell her he saw stars, and she would laugh at him, but it was the truth. He was powerless to stop his physical response to her kisses, and as they became more insistent, she worked at unbuttoning his shirt, and he cupped her breasts through the soft material of her sweater. God, this was better than he'd imagined, and despite the case, he'd found time to imagine. Sliding his tongue into the warm, wet depths of her mouth caused him to think about sliding another part of his body into her other warm, wet depths.

But it was when she pushed him back and climbed on top of him that he reminded himself of who he was with and the situation they were in. "Ainsley?"

"Yes?" she whispered, nipping at his neck.

"Should we be doing this?"

"Why do you ask? Don't you want me?"

"God, yes, I want you," he assured her, "but you've been through so much these past few days... I don't want you to regret this in the morning."

She sat up and looked at him. "I realize this may be a one-night stand or a pity fuck to you, but damn it, I don't care... I need to feel something.... Please, David...."

He smiled briefly and shook his head. "I don't know what Mac and Julie might've told you about me, but let me tell you this – I've known a lot of women, but never one like you. And if I make love to you, it won't be because I pity you, and I'll want to do it again...and again...and again...."

"We've got all night."

"I don't mean just tonight," he clarified, framing her face in his hands as he stared into her passion-darkened eyes. "I want you in my life. Once I have you, Ainsley, I won't be able to let you go. Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, as if to prove that she was indeed serious. "I am."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes!"_ She glanced away and took a deep breath. "I've felt so guilty, _so damn guilty_, for wanting you like I have, for thinking about my own needs and wants while we've been working this case...but now it's over, and I want you...I-I need you...I need to feel alive again."

He couldn't deny her, not when she was so serious, not when he wanted and needed her too. "Oh, Bella," he murmured, caressing her cheek, "I'll gladly make you feel alive again."

With that, he got to his feet, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, carried her to his bed.

Their clothes came off quickly, and when they were finally skin-on-skin, he told himself to take his time, to make it good for her. This wasn't just any woman; this was Ainsley.

"Tell me if I do anything you don't like, okay?"

She nodded and clutched at the sheet as he kissed her roughly one last time, then nibbled and licked his way down to her neck and shoulders. The feel of his whiskers on her sensitive skin was almost more than she could take, and she gasped when he finally took one pink nipple into his mouth and brushed circles around the other with his thumb. "Don't stop!"

"I won't, Bella, not unless you ask me to."

"Not going to...it feels too good."

He smiled against her breast. "If that feels good, then...how about I go lower?"

"Please!"

He didn't need to be told twice. As he spread her legs, he glanced up at her and saw her eyes on him. "You want to watch?"

She nodded shyly, biting her lip. "Yes."

That Southern accent nearly drove him over the edge, and they were only getting started. "So sweet," he said, as his tongue located her center and began flicking it teasingly. "Just like honey."

She let him pleasure her until she felt herself approaching the edge, then rolled them over so that she was on top again. Her head fell back and her breath came in gasps as he touched her breasts. "Oh, fuck, David...I think I could come just from this."

"And I think I could come just from watching you, hearing you talk like that. Don't hold back...do whatever feels right, whatever you want."

His erection felt like warm velvet over solid steel in her hand, and when she replaced her hand with her mouth and dug her nails into his hips, his back arched up off the bed. The feel of her lips and tongue and teeth sliding over him was more than he could take. Her soft moans didn't help, either.

"Damn, Ainsley," he panted. "I don't think I can wait...please tell me you're ready..."

"I think you know the answer to that..."

He settled her against the pillows and entered her slowly, so he wouldn't hurt her, and finally pushed all the way in. Breathing heavily now, she matched him thrust for thrust, and as he felt himself tightening up, a sure sign that he was to the point of no return, he leaned down and kissed her passionately.

She was lost in his kiss, the feel of him pumping in and out of her, and when her muscles clenched around him, he was a goner. "Oh, God," he groaned, wanting her to hear him cry out her name as he shuddered violently and emptied himself inside her, "Ainsley..."

When there was nothing left, he collapsed, half on, half off of her trembling body and wrapped her in his arms. "How do you feel now, Bella?" he asked softly.

"Very much alive," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, David...I needed that."

"So did I."

They lay in silence, their legs tangled together in the sheets, her head on his chest, his fingers combing through her hair. Just when he thought she might've fallen asleep, he felt the first tear.

"Ainsley? Ainsley, are you okay?"

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "Better than okay."

"Then why are you crying?" He tipped her chin up with his finger. "What's the matter?"

"For the first time since Kathryn died, I feel at peace...warm...safe...."

"You are," he whispered. "Just let it out...."

XXXXX

Hearing the door to the morgue open, Sid Hammerback looked up from the body on the table in front of him and saw Julie Brennan enter.

"Detective Brennan," he greeted her with a jovial smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She nodded at the bloated body. "That's my floater. Thought I'd come down and see what you've found."

"Well, I'm just closing him up, and the only fact I can swear to at the moment is that his last meal was buffalo wings and pepperoni pizza chased down by a couple of beers."

"A real health food fanatic, huh?"

"If you want to stick around, I should have more details for you shortly," he offered.

She shrugged. "Sure – I've got nowhere else to go right now."

As Sid stitched the body up, he said conversationally, "I hear Mac and Dr. Hamilton picked up Hansen today."

"They did," Julie replied, her clipped tone telling him exactly how she felt about being left out of the bust. "Case closed – now I can move on to this lovely fellow."

As Sid opened his mouth to respond, Mac walked into the morgue.

"Hey, Sid, Julie."

"Mac," the medical examiner nodded, then, with a smile, added, "Nice collar today."

"I'm just glad it's over," Mac demurred, catching Julie's expression out of the corner of his eye. She was _not_ pleased.

"What can I do for you?" Sid asked, picking up the palpable tension between Mac and Julie, and eager to avoid it.

"I need the tox report on Anna Rogers."

"Give me one second and I'll get it," he said, pulling off his rubber gloves. "Be right back."

Sid walked away, leaving Mac and Julie alone, standing on either side of the corpse on Sid's table.

"Julie," Mac began, knowing that this was the wrong time and the wrong place to do this, but wanting to calm her down before she got really worked up.

"That was my bust, Mac," she seethed, her voice barley a whisper.

"We had to move or we'd lose him...."

"Bullshit! I called you back in two minutes. Two fucking minutes, Mac. Hansen was totally unaware that you knew where he was. You could have waited for me and Rossi."

"I didn't hear the phone when you called back."

"Or did you just ignore it?" she snapped. "It's really funny that you and Ainsley were the two who made this bust…"

"Julie…"

"You two went alone and didn't call for more back up…when Dave, Donnie and I were all within five minutes of the scene and could have met you there…"

"We found him and didn't want to lose him," he tried again, though he knew the argument wasn't swaying her.

"You two wanted Hansen so bad you could taste it…and cut the rest of us out."

"Now wait just a damn minute – we did not!"

"Didn't you? You did exactly what you always yell at me for. You let your emotion lead you."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. She was right, he and Ainsley did go off in a rush, but she would never recognize the circumstances.

"Want to know the worst part?" she went on, her sarcastic smile telling him she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Once again, you dropped me for the cute chick with the accent."

"This had nothing to do with you and me, Julie," he shot back angrily.

"It has everything to do with us," she countered. "You went off half-cocked and could've gotten killed. And yes, I am royally pissed that you stole my bust. I worked just as hard on this case as everyone else, except I'm not an expert; I'm just a cop – a cop who probably could have handled herself much better than the expert who was out there with you today."

"Ainsley was great today – say what you will, but I won't let you take that away from her."

Julie pretended not to hear him. "So you run off with a professor covering your back," she went on, shaking her head. "Remind me next time I make a collar to stop by NYU for back-up first."

"This is getting out of hand," he said sternly.

"This whole situation got out of hand and you took it there," she retorted, walking around the table towards the door.

He stuck his hand out and grabbed her arm. She'd pushed him to his breaking point. "Do not walk away from me."

"Get your hand off of me."

He didn't budge. "You're not walking out of this room until you calm down."

"You need to let me go…now."

"You need to calm down and listen to me."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she challenged, her eyes flashing, color rising in her cheeks, her breasts rising and falling with her shallow breathing.

As pissed off as he was, he also realized that her passion was the very thing that made him fall in love with her in the first place. And love her he did, more than he thought he was capable of after losing Claire.

"Are you going to let me go?" she asked again, her anger easing.

He didn't answer, didn't let himself think, and for the second time that day, gave into his emotions. Pulling her close, he kissed her hard and full on her mouth.

XXXXX

Stunned, Julie took a moment to react. She wanted to push him away, to shut him out, but she couldn't. It was as if her body had its own agenda causing her to return his kiss.

He let go of her arms and embraced her, one kiss turning to another and then another as they lost themselves in the moment.

Julie's head cleared fist and she pulled back. "Shit, Mac…we're in the morgue."

"I know," he replied, not letting go. "We let our emotions get the best of us, didn't we?"

"Hell yeah, we did," she sighed as they parted. "That's the first time this has happened at work."

"It is," he agreed thoughtfully, confusing Julie with his calmness.

For her part, she was anything but calm. "This wasn't good, Mac," she stammered, pacing back and forth. "We just blew up at each other and then made out in the morgue. This…us…" she ran her hands through her hair, and then looked at him plaintively. "We've crossed a line."

"Marry me, Julie."

She did a double take. "What?"

"I said;" he repeated carefully, "marry me."

She shook her head. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"I did," he nodded.

"You just proposed to me," she laughed, "in the middle of an argument…in the morgue…two feet from a floater we just pulled from the Hudson."

Mac laughed with her. "I did, didn't I?"

"I love it!" she said, laughing harder, louder. "It's so perfect. So _us_."

"Are you going to give me an answer?" he pressed, taking her into his arms again.

"Yes, Mac...my answer is yes," she responded. "After such a proposal? How could I say no?"

"I'm serious, Julie," His tone was firm and sure. "I love you."

"I'm serious too, Mac," she returned, fixing his collar.

At that moment, Sid walked back into the morgue and cleared his throat loudly.

"How much of that did you hear?" Mac wanted to know, not releasing Julie.

Sid gave a sheepish smile. "I heard the last few minutes…voices carry."

"Its okay, Sid," Julie laughed, slipping out of Mac's arms. "You knew about us anyway."

"He did?" Mac asked, clearly surprised.

"I'm afraid I did," Sid confessed, giving Julie a hug. "Congratulations." He broke off the hug and held out his hand to Mac. "You've made a fine choice."

"I believe I have," he smiled, shaking Sid's hand, but looking only at Julie.


	13. Act 12

XXXXX

Unlike the previous morning when she had woken up with Rossi, after her nightmare, this morning Ainsley felt good. Hansen was in jail, where he belonged, and she was free, finally, to move on with her life, as the man who held her so tightly, so protectively had proven to her over and over and over again throughout the late night and early morning hours. Her whole body tingled as her mind drifted back to the last time they'd made love, just a few short hours ago.

It wasn't like her to sleep with a man she had only just met, but, she told herself as she relaxed against him, she really wasn't sure what she was like. She had lived in the shadow of Kathryn's murder for so long, she had forgotten her own self, forgotten to live her own life to the fullest, as Kathryn would've wanted. She knew she would need time to heal and that she couldn't expect her life to suddenly be wonderful and unburdened because Hansen had been arrested, but she was ready and willing to move on...and if Rossi figured into that plan, she decided, so much the better.

So Ainsley was happy to simply lie in bed, to not have to think about being at the lab by a certain time, to not have to wonder if today would be the day they caught Hansen, to enjoy the feeling of Rossi's arms around her. Yes, life was looking better and brighter as the sun rose over New York City, and she fell back into a deep, restful sleep.

XXXXX

Rossi opened his eyes when he heard Ainsley's breathing become deep and even again. He was awake long before she was, but she seemed so deep in thought, so serene, that he hated to disturb her, as much as he wanted to taste her sweet lips again and make love to her once more before they had to get up and get moving, and, later, say goodbye.

He did not relish the thought of seeing her off at La Guardia for her late afternoon flight back to Atlanta, not knowing when he could be with her again. He wanted to take her home to Virginia with him and never let her go. It had been so long since he had truly made love to a woman, but made love to her, he had, and he had loved every second, every kiss, every touch, every lick and taste. He knew she still had a long and difficult road ahead, but he also knew that if she wanted him, he was hers.

On that thought, he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. He felt her lips curve into a smile as he pulled away.

"Good morning," he whispered huskily as he gazed down at her.

She sighed and shifted in his arms, then rested her head on his shoulder. "It is a good morning, isn't it?"

"You tell me," he replied lightly, wanting to be sure she had no regrets, though her smile told him she didn't.

"It is a very good morning...and it was a very good night, too," she added shyly. "I needed to be with you, David – I wanted to be with you."

"And I you, Bella, but I need to know, I need to hear you say that you want more than this. I'm not going to let you push me away, not now."

"I don't want to," she replied softly as she combed her fingers through the hair on his chest. "I meant what I said last night; before we made love...I want to see where this goes."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Me too."

"You do realize," she continued, her voice barely audible, even in the stillness of their hotel room, "that I'll need time – time to get back to my life in Atlanta, time to –"

"I do," he interrupted. "I'm not going to push...."

"Thank you."

Relieved, and eager to have her again before they had to face the day, he sat up, bringing her with him. "I am, however, going to suggest we get a shower. Mac would kill me if you showed up at the diner looking like you do."

"And just how do I look?" she drawled, smiling again as he picked her up easily and headed toward the bathroom.

"Beautiful...completely and thoroughly loved, and totally satisfied...."

She laughed and kissed him soundly. "And that would be because I am...."

XXXXX

At the sound of his alarm, Mac Taylor woke quickly. If this was a normal morning, he'd get out of bed, brush his teeth, splash some water on his face and set out for his morning run. But this wasn't a normal morning.

Reaching behind him, he turned off his alarm, knowing that Julie's would go off 45 minutes later. She'd gotten used to sleeping through his alarm and this morning was no different. She lay facing away from him, breathing softly.

He reached out, and, using just the tip of his index finger, traced the length of her spine to the ornate tattoo at its base. A "tramp stamp" was what she laughingly called it the day she'd gotten it done – red roses on thick black stems, with pointed thorns in between the red blooms and green leaves. It was feminine and hard at the same time, very much like the woman who wore it...the woman, he thought with a smile, who would soon be his wife.

His wife. He didn't take those words or the responsibility that came with them lightly. After Claire, he didn't think he would ever find another woman who would make him want to take that step again. Yet there she was, someone he'd known all along, a friend, a confidante, a colleague. Falling in love with her took him by surprise, and by the time she'd called him on it, he was in over his head.

Her drowsy voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Mmmm…feels good…."

He could hear the smile in her voice. Kissing the back of her neck, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. His body reacted immediately to the feel of her skin against his.

As usual, she had a remark. "Is that for me or do you have to go?"

He chuckled and kissed her shoulder as his hands traveled her body. "It's for you."

"Aren't you going running?"

"Don't feel like it," he replied, his fingers playing along the soft swell of her breast.

Julie laughed and slowly rolled over to face him. "Getting your exercise a different way, are you?"

"You won't get up and go running with me," he replied smartly. "I've got to do something...."

XXXXX

Mac sat at the breakfast bar drinking his second cup of coffee of the morning and staring at the black velvet box he held in his hand.

He'd wanted to give it to Julie while they were still in bed, holding each other and coming down from the adrenaline rush of their lovemaking, but before he could, she had gone to take a shower. She'd told him more than once that it was then that she felt the closest to him. She would have been just as thrilled that he remembered her words as she would have been to receive the carat and a half of diamonds in the box.

But their 45-minute window of opportunity between his alarm and hers wasn't long enough this morning.

Morning sex was not a frequent occurrence for them, and when it did happen, it was efficient, quick, and purpose-driven. This morning, however, they took their time, enjoyed being playful and teasing He supposed it was because of his impromptu proposal, but whatever the reason, Julie woke in an uncharacteristically good mood.

He looked up as she walked into the kitchen and straight to the coffee pot. As she poured herself a cup, he was hit with an unfamiliar nervousness.

"You need a refill?" she asked.

"No, thanks – this is my second."

A devilish smile crossed her features. "Did I wear you out or something this morning?"

"Or something," he laughed as she left the kitchen with her coffee. "Julie…wait..."

"What?" she called back.

He followed to the bathroom, where she started putting on her make-up. She turned to look at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I just wanted to give you something."

She turned back to the mirror and started to apply her mascara. "You already did."

"No, not that," he sighed, obviously frustrated. "Can you just stop for just one minute?"

XXXXX

Surprised, she set down her mascara and turned to face him. In all of the years she'd known him, she'd never seen him look rattled. Until that morning.

"Mac," she said, "I'm going to ask you again – are you okay?"

"I will be," he laughed nervously.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're worrying me."

"I don't know why I'm having trouble with this," he muttered, then, in a more confident voice, added, "Last night, I told you that I've been thinking about proposing to you for a while."

She nodded. "You just didn't know if I was there yet."

"Yeah, well, about a month ago," he continued, his nerves dissipating, "I saw this ring and it just looked…right. Next thing I knew, I was handing over a credit card and walking out the jewelry store with a perfectly good diamond ring, but no real plan for how or when to give it to you. So it's been sitting in the back of my sock drawer, waiting, and then yesterday, in the morgue, I'm not sure why, but it just seemed to be the right time. Of course this," he added, holding up the box, "was still in my sock drawer. I guess that tells you how spontaneous the proposal was."

"Spontaneous and perfect," she replied softly, caressing his cheek.

"No, not perfect. If it was perfect, I would have had this with me when I proposed instead of waiting until the next morning and stammering like an idiot."

"I don't know...I think it's cute."

He winced. "Cute? If you say so. Anyway, I guess, since you've already said yes, I don't need to do this, but I've got the traditional approach stuck in my head...."

Julie watched as he removed the ring from the box and went down on one knee. Taking her left hand, he looked up at her. "Julie," he began, his tone serious, "will you marry me?" He slipped the ring onto her finger and smiled. "This would be the part where you say yes again."

"Stand up," she said, waiting until he was standing to throw her arms around him and kiss him deeply. "Yes, again."

XXXXX

Ainsley kicked Rossi out of the bathroom after their long, leisurely shower, laughing as she said she needed to get ready without him distracting her. They were meeting Mac and Julie for a late breakfast at ten, and, she added coyly, she wanted them to spend the few hours they had left before she had to be at the airport and he had to head back to Little Creek together.

He looked up from the _New York Times_ and smiled at the sight of her in jeans that fit just right, a brown sweater and brown boots, her hair falling over her shoulders, her make-up natural. Damn, she looks good, he thought, in and out of her clothes.

"Hey, you," he greeted her as he tossed the newspaper aside.

"Hey, yourself," she replied, returning his smile. "You ready?"

He stood and sighed. "I guess...."

"You guess?"

"Yeah." They met in the middle of their suite's sitting room and shared a deep kiss. "I'd much rather just stay shut up here with you until I take you to the airport," he murmured as they parted.

"I'd like that too," she said, looking up at him, "but – "

"We have to meet Mac and Julie – "

"And they won't appreciate us being late," she finished. "Julie was pissed yesterday, and I really don't want to give her another reason to be angry with me."

"She was upset she missed the bust, felt like she was purposely left out," Rossi explained matter-of-factly as he opened their door, and then locked it behind them. "She'll get over it. Trust me. What's important is that you and Mac took Hansen down."

"You're right, but still...I like Julie, and I want to be her friend...I don't want her to be mad."

"She won't be," he assured her as walked to the elevator, arm-in-arm. "I'm sure Mac has talked her down by now. I've always thought he'd make a hell of a hostage negotiator...he can handle Julie."

XXXXX

As soon as Rossi and Ainsley entered the diner and saw Mac and Julie sitting on the same side of the table in a booth near the back, Ainsley knew something was up. Mac was grinning and staring adoringly at Julie, who kept looking back and forth between him and her left hand, which rested on the table and flashed a stunning engagement ring.

Ainsley glanced back at Rossi. He grinned and raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively. He'd noticed too. "Told you he'd talked her down."

"Hey, y'all," Ainsley said brightly, bringing the obviously happy couple out of their reverie. "Hope you haven't been waiting long."

"No," Mac replied as he glanced at his watch. "It's ten on the dot. The waitress is making us a fresh pot of coffee."

"Good," Rossi chuckled, "but a fresh pot of coffee wouldn't have you two looking like you just won the lottery. You proposed, didn't you?"

Mac and Julie both blushed. "I did," he confessed.

"And I said yes," she giggled.

"Well? Let us see the ring!" Ainsley laughed, grabbing Julie's hand. "Oh. My. God." She looked back at Rossi. "He did good, didn't he, David?"

He smiled. "Yes, he did – a good ring, and an even better woman."

The four traded congratulatory hugs and handshakes, and after they placed their orders, Julie cleared her throat. "Ainsley? Want to make a trip to the ladies' with me?"

"One thing I will never get about women," Rossi said, "is why they have to go to the restroom together...."

Ainsley couldn't help herself. She grinned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she got up. "Don't think too hard about it, darlin' – you'll just give yourself a headache."

XXXXX

"I didn't really have to go," Julie admitted once she and Ainsley were in the ladies' room. "I just wanted to talk to you for a minute, alone, and apologize for yesterday."

Ainsley shrugged. "You don't have to...its okay."

"No, it isn't okay," Julie replied adamantly as she dug her lipstick out of her purse. "I shouldn't have gone off like I did."

"Don't be silly. I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes!" Ainsley stopped fluffing her hair and looked at Julie in the mirror. "I've worked with enough law enforcement agencies to know that no one likes to have 'their' bust stolen, but it wasn't like that. We had to move."

"Mac told me. Yes, this was my case, but that bastard murdered your sister...it was only right that you be the one to take him down."

"I don't care about taking credit for that," Ainsley said softly. "He had another woman with him, and he would've murdered her too if we hadn't arrived when we did. I'm just glad we got him."

Julie nodded and decided to turn the conversation to other, far more interesting topics, her apology accepted. "I'm glad too. But I'm not the only woman looking very happy this morning...tell me...you and Rossi slept together, didn't you?"

Ainsley couldn't stop the grin that lit up her face, the color that crept up her cheeks. "How did you know?"

Julie laughed. "You're glowing."

"Really?"

"Like a damned Christmas tree! And Rossi had this jaunty spring to his step. Who knows? You may be just the

woman to settle the Lothario of the FBI down."

XXXXX

Once Julie and Ainsley were out of earshot, Mac started in on Rossi. "Did she really kiss you or did my eyes deceive me?"

Rossi grinned. "Yes and no."

"Tell me you didn't do what I think you did," Mac groaned. He knew his old friend well, knew that monogamy was not one of his strong suits.

"We did, more than once, and it was, in a word, amazing...." Rossi replied, still grinning.

Mac's jaw tightened. "Ainsley is not the sort of woman you spend one night with, then cast aside! Dammit, Dave, she's been through enough, don't you think?"

"You underestimate me, my friend, and you underestimate the good doctor. It was a mutual decision. And I'm older, wiser...I told you, I _want_ to be tied to one woman. She's everything I've ever wanted, Mac – I've already fallen for her."

"Really?" Mac was still dubious. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I told her she had to give herself willingly to me."

"And what did she say to that?"

"She said she wanted to see where it goes."

"You won't break her heart, will you?"

Rossi shook his head. "No," he said, completely serious. "I've got a feeling...and you know my feelings rarely prove wrong."

Mac had to agree. He raised his coffee cup in a toast. "Well, then, here's to us and our ladies, and to the long haul...."


End file.
